


Bump and Run

by cornelius



Series: Bump and Run [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cheerleader!Dean, M/M, NFL!Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-02-06 14:58:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 77,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1862115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cornelius/pseuds/cornelius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester, a junior at KU, could have never imagined that he would cheer for a professional football team, let alone for his favorite team, the Kansas City Angels. But he gets more than he bargained for when he strikes up an odd friendship with Castiel Novak, the Angels’ hall-of-fame bound cornerback. Dean has to juggle going to school and dealing with his family’s crises and planning for the upcoming UCA Nationals cheer competition, all while struggling with his sexuality and his feelings for Castiel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been about seven months in the making and I'm so excited to finally start posting! The whole thing is written, but it is still being edited, so you don't have to worry about it being abandoned.
> 
> First of all, this wouldn't have been possible without the love and support of the [Meta Saloon](http://www.tumblr.com/tagged/meta-saloon). I also have to give a big shoutout to my beta and editor and cheerleader, [messier51](http://messier51.tumblr.com), for believing in me and telling me when my wording was weird and giving me the confidence to keep writing.
> 
> Second of all, I have to mention my inspiration, the cheerleader!Dean art of [castielnovak](http://castielnovak.tumblr.com). Her art is amazing and you should check out all of it!
> 
> Finally, I've included hover text for much of the football jargon in the fic, but some of it won't make sense if you don't know anything about football. To make reading easier, I've written an overview of American Football, [Football for Fandom](http://s-cornelius.tumblr.com/post/89425108665/football-for-fandom-part-i-football-terms), as a companion. It includes basic gameplay, scoring points, how the specialized positions work and famous players. Every position and famous player mentioned in the fic is explained in Football for Fandom. It's still a work in progress, so if you need anything clarified, or just want to learn more, message me at [my tumblr](http://s-cornelius.tumblr.com) and I'll add to it.
> 
> For updates and more, check out the [Bump and Run tag](http://s-cornelius.tumblr.com/tagged/bnr) on my tumblr.
> 
> Without any further ado, here's Chapter 1!

Sixteen year-old Dean Winchester would have laughed his ass off at the prospect of cheerleading for a professional football team. Now, twenty-years-old and standing on the springy turf of Red Bull Field, home of the [Kansas City Angels](%20), the whole idea was more daunting than hilarious.

Dean wasn’t really sure about all the details that had gotten him to this point. He knew that before the end of his last semester, the Kansas City Angels had closed a deal with University of Kansas, the nearest [Division I school](%20), to make use of their cheerleaders. He knew that his assignment to the collegiate squad meant he would cheer at every Sunday Angels home game for his foreseeable college career. And he knew that the [NFL](%20) team was probably getting the better deal, because Dean was cheering for free (thank you [NCAA](%20) rules). 

If Dean was honest with himself, he didn’t mind all that much. The perks (for once, Dean thought) outnumbered the drawbacks. Sure, it meant his fall schedule had gotten a whole lot busier, but it also meant no more long weekends spent on a shitty bus for KU Jayhawks away games. Since he hoped to be a physical therapist one day, the chance to pick the brains of the Angels’ trainers a couple times over the course of the season excited Dean. Not to mention that Dean’d been an Angels fan for as long as he could remember; to be a part of franchise history was pretty freakin’ awesome as far as Dean was concerned. 

Another huge perk for Dean was being able to show off that cheerleaders didn’t just wear glitter and act peppy. Hell, Benny Lafitte and Victor Henriksen, two of the other cheerleaders on the Angels collegiate squad, had been offensive linemen in high school before making the cheerleading team at KU. Compared to the burly guys like them, Dean was one of the smaller guys on the squad, but he could still lift and throw around the 110 lb flyers with the bulkiest of them. And when it came time to do tumbling passes, Dean could really show off. 

He just wished that their first practice wasn’t at the Angels’ Stadium in the middle of July -- or in the middle of the Angels’ training camp. 

“Hey man, where’s your pom poms?”

“Shouldn’t you be wearing a skirt like the other girls?”

Halfway through a stretch, Dean gritted his teeth and turned away from the two heckling football players near him on the field. After being a cheerleader all through middle and high school, he could take a few jibes from some third rate pros. Especially since Dean, the avid Angels fan that he was, didn’t know who the fuck they were; so they couldn’t be starters, or really, worth mentioning at all. Dean and football players of any sort had never really gotten along. That sort of heckling would have immediately led sixteen year-old Dean to a knock-down drag-out brawl, but, as an older and wiser twenty year-old, Dean knew more effective strategies for dealing with these sorts of men, bruising egos instead of bones. And yeah, sometimes bones, too.

“You know, it’s a good thing _I’ve_ never taken steroids,” Dean said jokingly to Benny, his closest friend on the cheer squad and former roommate, just loud enough to be heard by the nearby players assembled for warm ups. He could feel the pros watching his back as he winked to Benny. 

“Why’s that?” Benny said back, smirking through deltoid stretches. Benny was only a couple inches shorter than Dean’s 6’1” stature, but he was much bulkier at almost 230 lbs of pure muscle. If this came to blows, Dean knew he could definitely count on Benny to have his back and kick some ass. 

“Oh, you know,” Dean said as he stood up, pulling his leg up so the his heel touched his lower back, “Steroids really fuck up your junk, man.” The Angels might’ve been his favorite team, but he wasn’t going to miss a chance to mess with some dickish pros’ trumped up egos. 

“Good thing we don’t have that problem,” Benny laughed in reply. Dean turned toward his teammates, switching to stretch his other leg. The girls on the squad giggled with Dean and Benny, one piping in with a story about “performance issues” with a quarterback she used to date.

Turning to look at Dean, Benny’s face fell quickly, “Hey! Dean look --”

A football whizzed right past Dean. It probably would've hit him in the head, were it not for the football player who'd gripped Dean’s shoulder tightly and roughly pulled him out of the way. Dean had a feeling it was going to leave a mark.

“Oops. It must have slipped,” the one of the jerk players yelled at the two cheerleaders and Dean’s rescuer. Passing another practice ball between them, the two football players sauntered off to a different part of the field. Since he’d landed flat on his ass, Dean had to look up to scowl at the football player who pulled him out of the way. The player must have sprinted across the field to practically tackle Dean; Dean didn’t remember seeing him during the cheerleaders’ warm up. 

“Hey! Do you want me to break something?” Dean said, testing his ankles and knees for sprains. He looked up at the man, recognizing him as the Angels’ big-shot cornerback, number 35 -- Castiel Novak. He was wearing a white practice jersey and the lightly padded polyester pants of quarterbacks and wide receivers. 

“I apologize,” Castiel growled in his rough baritone and raised one eyebrow, “I thought a possible sprain would be preferable to a certain concussion.” He put out his hand to help Dean up off the turf. Dean huffed and rolled his eyes, slapping his right hand on Castiel’s outstretched forearm. 

“Yeah yeah, thanks a lot,” Dean said sarcastically.

“It was nothing …” By Castiel’s tone, it definitely didn’t sound like it had been nothing. He tilted his head, obviously fishing for Dean’s name. 

“Uh, it’s Dean,” he supplied, bending over and stretching to check for injury. He rolled up slowly, making sure nothing was pulled or pinched, and he didn’t miss the way Castiel looked him up and down. If it were anyone else, Dean would have thought he was being checked out and would have preened under the attention, but he wasn’t sure with Castiel. Standing up to his full height, Dean looked over Castiel’s shoulder, and could see one of the coaches gesturing for Castiel to come back.

“I think someone’s calling for you. Shouldn’t you get back to your drills or whatever?” Dean asked, fidgeting with the hem of his practice tee under Castiel’s continued scrutiny. The movement drew Castiel’s attention to Dean’s hands. 

Suddenly and without warning, Castiel stuck out his hand for a handshake. Dean hesitantly put his hand in Castiel’s, pulling a ‘is this guy for real’ face to Benny.

“I’m Castiel Novak,” the cornerback said pumping Dean’s fist once before dropping the handshake. It was oddly textbook, as if Castiel had just been given a human body and instructions on the proper way for humans to greet each other.

“Yeah I know. I watch football,” Dean said, matter-of-fact.

“Oh,” Castiel said, “Well then, I look forward to having your squad cheer for us this season. Try not to get in the path of any more stray balls.” He then finally turned from Dean and ran to the other side of the field for running drills. Dean stared as Castiel ran away; it was hard to tell if he was messing with Dean, or if he was just a dick. Or maybe he really didn’t know how to interact normally with humans. That last possibility sure would explain the handshake.

“That was weird,” Dean said, turning to Benny to finish going through his stretches. 

“You said it, brother.”

Weird or not, Dean couldn’t stop himself from looking over his shoulder to watch Castiel go through a running drill. Dean might not let himself indulge in his occasional (really, very occasional) attraction to men, but that doesn’t mean he couldn’t let himself look from time to time. After all, it was just Harrison Ford (Han Solo _and_ Indiana Jones) and Dr. Sexy and that young deputy that one time and the only Jewish kid at cheer camp and maybe a few others, and maybe Castiel Novak, but other than that, all women. He certainly could allow himself to look if it was just to admire a man’s athleticism, his speed and agility. And Castiel was without a doubt a specimen of athletic strength and grace. 

Dean had seen Castiel play on TV before, but seeing the man up close was a totally different experience. Castiel’s too blue eyes sparkled with intelligence, which Dean wouldn’t have expected from an NFL player, and his kind of odd (and oddly straightforward) personality made him a far cry from the teasing and overly-confident football players Dean’d known in school. Dean had certainly thought Castiel Novak was attractive on TV, but after seeing him in person, all solid and sweaty and _strong_ , even Castiel’s strange social graces couldn’t temper the churning Dean felt in his gut whenever he looked at Castiel. 

And not looking at Castiel became harder and harder as the cheerleaders started their practice. Dean found himself drawn to Castiel, and he couldn’t bring himself to look away as the pros ran through their drills. Each time he caught sight of Castiel, his imagination would kick into overdrive. He would picture Castiel’s amazingly firm and full ass and thick, meaty runner’s thighs flexing and stretching under his hands. He would imagine Castiel’s pectorals and abdominals, just as defined as the calves and forearms peeking out of Castiel’s practice jersey and shorts, twitching as Dean ran his fingers over the sweaty flesh of Castiel’s torso. And Dean would strain to hold on to Castiel’s broad shoulders and his headful of dark messy hair as Castiel’s large and graceful hands made their way over Dean’s body, holding Dean down while Castiel fucked him slowly and deeply. 

Dean returned to his practice hard and almost panting, trying in vain to push down his fantasies about the cornerback. Castiel, of course, picked that moment to glance Dean’s direction and caught Dean gaping. Dean turned away blushing, but not before Castiel sent an awkward, aborted wave in Dean’s direction. Dean studiously avoided looking in the direction of the football practice for the remainder of the afternoon.

\----

Just because Dean was cheering for the Angels didn’t mean he had an easy five months ahead of him. He was a college student, after all, and still had to take college classes for four of the upcoming five months, no matter who he was cheering for. After busting his ass sophomore year, he had been accepted into the Exercise Science B.S. program, and was now starting his junior year enrolled in three classes for his major (plus an English class to finish up his core requirements).

Also, cheering for the Angels didn’t mean _exclusively_ cheering for the Angels. Dean had been one of only twelve KU cheerleaders to be selected to the Angels collegiate cheer squad, but he still had to cheer at Jayhawks football home games with the rest of the team. Fortunately, the two teams had been able to work it out so the Angels and the Jayhawks only played at home different weekends, save one weekend in November that Dean was dreading. Despite avoiding the long, cramped bus rides, he was a little sad that this arrangement meant he wasn’t going to be traveling to the away games this season, since secretly partying in far-away hotels had been one of the more enjoyable aspects of collegiate cheering, but cheering in Red Bull Field, for the Kansas City Angels, well, that was a once in a lifetime opportunity he wasn’t going to miss out on. 

And even though the team was divided into smaller squads for various athletic events and to accommodate the KC Angels, the whole KU cheerleading team still had summer camps together, as well as biweekly practices and workouts when classes started up in a month. 

This is how Dean found himself stuck for seven long days with thirty overly-opinionated gossips who wouldn’t stop bugging Dean about his run-in with Castiel Novak. Bela Talbot, one of the co-captains and a senior, had been at the practice on the Angels’ home turf, and was telling the story to anyone who would listen, not forgetting to include horrific impressions of Dean and Castiel. Benny, the traitor that he was, made sure to not leave out Dean’s ‘dazed looks’ and Castiel’s ‘intense stares’ as he jokingly told his own version of the story. Lisa Braeden, the other co-captain and Dean’s ex-girlfriend, was the only one who stuck up for him to the rest of the squad, but joined Benny in mercilessly teasing him about his ‘mancrush’ when the underclassmen weren’t around to soak up the gossip. 

It had been a week since Dean had seen Castiel Novak, and interest in Dean’s brush with celebrity looked like it might finally be waning. Or maybe the team was just too tired from the week of day-long summer practices to care anymore about Dean’s celebrity encounter. Either way, as their last day of camp ended at the Robinson Center at KU, Dean was happy he was no longer the center of attention.

The second Dean heard a familiar rough voice behind him though, he knew the brief reprieve from harassment-free practice had ended.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said as he appeared at Dean’s right shoulder. Popping up out of nowhere and scaring the fuck out of Dean seemed to be innate abilities of Castiel’s instead of a one-time fluke.

“Jesus Christ! What are you doing here?” Dean shouted, dropping the water bottles and pom poms he was gathering up from the gym floor. Dean was glad he had the home field advantage this time, but there was something about Castiel that put Dean on edge, that made Dean feel unsure and naked under his gaze.

“I was watching your practice.” Castiel said plainly, like Dean had suddenly lost all grasp on reality. 

“Yeah, that’s not creepy,” Dean muttered, bending down to grab a water bottle before it rolled away. Somehow Castiel Novak had found out when and where the squad practiced, and Dean glanced around quickly to see who the guilty party was. 

“I was assured by your coach that it would be okay for me to watch your practice. I told her that I had never seen cheerleading on this level until our shared practice last week,” Castiel said, as if he could read Dean’s mind. He began helping Dean pick up the odds and ends scattered across the gym floor in Dean’s shock at seeing him.

“Yeah, yeah, flattery will get you everywhere.” Dean rubbed his hand on the back of his neck and bit his lip. This conversation was taking a distinctly uncomfortable turn. “But come on, man, you’re a football player! You have to have been surrounded by cheerleaders for-fucking-ever.” 

Castiel hummed his assent, “Yes, there have been cheerleaders at my games, but I never thought they warranted my attention.” Dean blinked and fought the smirk off his face, physically drawing his lower lip down with the slide of his thumb.

“Well, you sure know how to make a guy feel important.” Dean snorted, shaking his head. Dean could hand it to the guy; he didn’t mince words. Dean had spent the past week mulling over the strange encounter he’d had with Castiel at the Angels’ stadium, and come to the conclusion that Castiel, like all the other pros, had probably been treated like a God his whole life and felt like he could say anything to anyone, uncaring about how rude or weird it came off. 

Castiel must have picked up on the annoyance in Dean’s tone and backpedaled, “I meant it as a compliment, Dean. _You_ are exceptional.” Castiel caught Dean’s eyes. “You stand out.” 

Dean wasn’t sure what to do with that piece of information. He tried to figure out what Castiel wanted from him, eying the Angel warily, but Castiel looked completely open and honest. Maybe Castiel _was_ being sincere, _had been_ sincere when they first met, but he didn’t know how to talk to people. Maybe he was being sincere now, and he didn’t _dislike_ cheerleaders after all, but he had actually been so honed in on football that he actually never had noticed them before. Hell, Dean knew that feeling of the rest of the world disappearing when he cheered (one of his old girlfriends, a psych major, called it flow). After watching Angels games the past few seasons, Dean could easily believe that Castiel felt the same thing when he played.

Last season, Dean had scraped together enough cash from his savings and his cheerleading stipend and some of what was left of his parents’ life insurance money to take his younger brother Sam and his surrogate father Bobby Singer to an Angels game. The three of them had to sit in the nosebleeds and park a mile away, but it had been worth it to splurge on Sam and Bobby. 

Despite only being 19 and 15, Bobby had let them have sips of his beer when no one was looking, and bought both of them stupid foam fingers to wave around during the game. Dean would never tell Castiel this, but he and his brother had stood for what seemed like hours in the pre-game signature lines (and had to pass Sam off as a thirteen year-old to even get anything signed). They got Castiel to sign that damn foam finger, and despite Sam’s indifference to football as a sport, the memento of that game remained one of Sam’s most treasured possessions. Castiel had barely spared Dean and Sam a glance at the time to keep the line moving, but Castiel’s intense concentration, even on signing crap for kids, had stuck with Dean.

Castiel’s signing booth intensity was nothing compared to his on-field presence. Dean remembered the laser-like focus, the unrelenting ferocity and the unmatchable speed with which Castiel played the game. Dean could tell, even from the shittiest seats known to man, that Novak’s entire being was centered on the game. 

Castiel was absolute, and Dean thought he was gorgeous. 

“Anyway,” Dean blushed and shook himself out of his reverie, realizing he had just been staring for god knows how long into Castiel’s eyes. He grabbed the nearest “Rock Chalk” board and moved to finish putting the the rest of the gear away with Castiel’s silent help. Castiel even helped Dean fold up the mats and put them back into storage. Dean looked around and noticed for the first time that all of his teammates had fucked off sometime between Castiel showing up and now. He huffed a laugh to himself and really turned to fully take in Castiel for the first time in their conversation. Dean blinked at Castiel’s outfit. 

“What the hell are you wearing, man?” Dean gave a derisive snort, gesturing up and down to the oversized tan trenchcoat over a dark suit with a white shirt and a blue tie.

“Oh, this?” Castiel pulled at the lapel of the his trenchcoat, “I’m incognito.”

Dean raised his eyebrows and huffed a _sure, whatever_ under his breath. Turning to hide a grin, he started stuffing his things into his duffel bag. 

“I’ve been wearing this for years out in public, and no one’s ever recognized me.” Dean glanced up at Castiel, taking in the frown marring Castiel’s features and Dean’s unease melted away. Whatever power Castiel had to put Dean on edge dissipated with a single look of confusion.

“Why does that not surprise me?” Dean laughed and Castiel’s frown deepened. “Buddy, you’re about as far from football player as possible in that get up.” Dean continued laughing to himself and shouldered his duffel. He sighed and turned to Castiel, contemplating the strange man; Castiel had just popped into his life and didn’t seem like he had any intention of leaving.

“So, what’s the plan now, Cas? You drove to Lawrence, watched us practice, now what?” Dean called over his shoulder, “Take in the sights? Go out for strippers?” Dean began walking toward the main entrance of the Robinson Center, nodding at the entrance as Castiel caught up with him. He hadn't realized how distracted he'd been until the football player's hands had disappeared into trenchcoat pockets and Dean had been _disappointed_ that he couldn't see them anymore.

“Oh, I was going to drive home and eat dinner before reading or watching television for a few hours. Then I’d planned to be in bed by ten-thirty,” Castiel said, shrugging. 

Dean suddenly stopped and guffawed, “Wow, I knew football players led glamorous lives, but that really takes the cake.”

Castiel, now a few paces ahead of Dean answered sensibly, “It’s practical. It’s routine. All of the sports books say that establishing a routine is important for ensuring consistent performance.”

“I think they mean that if you scratch your balls before throwing a free throw once, make sure to do it every time,” Dean pointed out, scoffing, as he opened the door for a few sorority girls in yoga pants who sent him strange looks. They gave him and Cas, who must have looked like a creeper in his trenchcoat, a wide berth. Cas shot Dean his own pained look at Dean’s remark.

Dean continued, unphased, “And either way it wouldn’t hurt to stop by beer and bacon happy hour every once in a while. You know, play some pool, pick up a chick…” Dean paused, considering, “Or a dude. I don’t judge.”

Dean patted Castiel on the back as they stepped up to the crosswalk that connected the gym to the parking lot, but Castiel’s pained expression only turned into a considering one. He blinked and stared at Dean while they waited for the light at the crosswalk to the parking lot to change.

“Dean, are you trying to ‘pick me up’?” Castiel asked, putting fucking air quotes around ‘pick me up’. 

“No!” Dean exclaimed, stumbling over the curb as they stepped out on to the crosswalk. He hoped Castiel didn’t notice his faint blush or the sound of his heart hammering in his chest. Sure, given the right circumstances, Dean would love to do a lot more than ‘pick up’ Castiel, like picking him up and fucking him against a wall.

Dean readjusted his duffel on his shoulder before continuing, “I’m just trying to say, live a little. I mean you don’t have to go all OJ or even Plaxico Burress, and definitely avoid going down the Ben Roethlisberger path. But you don’t have to live like a hermit.”  
  
“I’m obviously not a hermit,” Castiel said firmly, “I leave my home regularly. I’m not in my home right now.” They made their way across the parking lot after that in relative silence with Dean unsure how to respond; how Castiel lived his life was obviously a sore subject and Dean didn’t know Castiel well enough to know the right thing to say.

“And my mother has always said that a quiet, modest life was best.” Castiel continued as if out of nowhere, avoiding eye contact with Dean as they stepped up to Dean’s car. The way Castiel spoke, Dean could tell that the cornerback had spent their silent walk contemplating what to say next.

“Well, you play football professionally, so I think the whole quiet, modest life ship’s sailed,” Dean said and Castiel looked up at Dean from the spot he was fixated with on the ground, “Look, I’m not asking you to marry me, but I’m hungry and I’m going to get some food. If you’re hungry too, you should come with me instead of going back to your hobbit hole or uh, hermit, uh, dwelling or whatever.” 

Dean placed his duffel in the backseat of his black ‘67 Impala, his Baby, and turned quickly to a fidgeting Castiel, “And never start a sentence with ‘my mother says’ or ‘my mother thinks,’ especially if you ever want to get laid again.” Dean opened the driver’s door, climbing in and motioning for Castiel to go around the other side. 

“It’s called a hermitage.” Cas said succinctly after sliding in on the passenger’s side and fastening his seat belt.

“What?” Dean asked, confused by the non-sequitur.

“Where hermits live. They live in hermitages. A hermit dwelling is called a hermitage.” 

Dean checked his mirror and began pulling out of his parking space, “Thanks, Webster, so I’m thinking we go --” 

“And I’ve never ‘been laid’ before” Castiel said abruptly, with those damn air quotes again, “so I’m not sure how mentioning my mother will enhance or hinder my chances at doing something again that I haven’t done before.” 

Dean blinked incredulously at the sudden shift in topic; he was going to get conversational whiplash at this rate. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, looking for the right response, before turning to Castiel and asking, “What? How is that even possible? How old are you?” 

“Watch the road, Dean,” Castiel said, motioning for Dean to keep his eyes forward, “And I will be 28 in September.”

They pulled up to a red light and Dean clapped his hands together, saying, “Okay, new plan: Get Castiel laid tonight. Though I’m still hungry, so let’s eat first.”

Castiel shot Dean another pained look. Dean was starting to think the cornerback could only make faces that ranged from annoyed to constipated. “I’m really okay with not doing … ," Cas paused, looking away, and exhaled slightly, " _that_ plan, Dean." 

“Fine, fine, have it your way.” Dean waved it off and Castiel’s face relaxed. “But if we’re ever going to hang out again, this _is_ going to come up.”

Castiel turned from Dean, an intense look of concentration on his face, and Dean started banging out the rhythm to ‘Renegade’ on the steering wheel to fill the silence. 

“Dean, you want to hang out again?” Castiel asked after hitting a few red lights, like it was a completely foreign concept that someone would want to _willingly_ spend time with him.

“Uhh,” Dean blushed. He hadn’t _hated_ talking to the strange cornerback; maybe hanging out - or ever friendship - wouldn’t be too bad. He might even enjoy himself. But he definitely wasn’t going to mention the NC-17 rated version of ‘enjoying himself’ with Castiel, because you just don’t think of people you go out for a burger with in various sexual positions. “Uh, sure, why not?” Dean offered, “And I invited you to eat food with me. People don’t willingly invite other people to eat for no reason.”

“Oh. I hadn’t realized.” Cas said, deeply considering the implications of his actions; Dean wondered if he was mentally reevaluating every previous conversation he’d ever had.

“I mean, if you don’t want to, we -- “

“I do.” Castiel cut him off quickly, “I mean, I _do_ want to hang out. With you. I’ve just never had many people in my life who weren’t family or teammates before.”

“Well, Cas, now you’ve got me,” Dean declared, pulling into the parking lot of the small diner a few blocks from KU’s campus. 

“Okay,” Dean said, stepping out of the Impala, “I’m starving. Let’s eat.”


	2. Chapter 2

If Dean had known being friends with Castiel meant strange text messages at random times throughout the day, he would have never given up his phone number after that first dinner together. He’d only known Cas a month and Dean was beginning to wonder if Bobby had thought to included unlimited texting in their family phone plan.

It was always the weirdest stuff, too. It was usually something like: _Did you know that elephants have prehensile penises? And they can be up to 39 in. long. Also, both male and female elephants engage in homosexual behavior. -Cas_

Or, one night: _Dean, I am very disturbed by America’s fixation with dating reality television. Are both_ The Bachelor _AND_ The Bachelorette _entirely necessary?? And why do people continue to volunteer for these shows when all of the relationships have been unsuccessful? -Cas_

And once, after a natural disaster: _Dean, do you believe in God? I like to think there is a God, but how could He let such horrible things happen to all those people? -Cas_

But now he was barely thirty minutes into his third class of the semester, and Dean felt the telltale buzz of his phone in his pocket. He wanted to kick himself; he should’ve known better than to leave his phone on vibrate instead of silent. There were only ten people in his English poetry seminar (which he was only taking because he needed his final general requirement course, certainly not because he had a _thing_ for poetry), so reaching down to shut off his phone in the middle of class would only draw further attention.

It had to be Cas. There were only really a handful of people who even _texted_ Dean in the first place. Sam was at basketball practice, Bobby was working, and Dean’s teammates were all in their own Monday afternoon classes. In fact, the only person with large stretches of time off in the afternoon was Castiel. Cas could usually amuse himself in the afternoon, though he did tend to send what Dean affectionately thought of as "pay attention to me!" texts around four-thirty. Even so, he rarely texted when they were going to see each other later that evening, preferring to save up all the things he wanted to share with Dean for when they were face to face. Dean cringed as his phone buzzed again, reminding him of the text’s arrival. He would have to ask Sam later how to shut that ‘multiple notifications for a single text’ thing off next time he saw the kid.

Thirty minutes later -- thank the lord for professors who let out early on the first day of class -- Dean was able to check his phone:

_Dean, I regret to inform you that I must cancel our plans this evening. My mother is in town, which requires my full attention. Hopefully, she’ll be gone tomorrow and we can reschedule. -Cas_

Dean frowned down at his phone. He didn’t know much about Cas’ mom other than her revolving marriages and emotional distance. Getting anything out of Cas about his upbringing counted as a minor miracle in Dean’s book, since Cas kept any information about his family sealed up tighter than a Swiss bank account. 

Dean only learned recently that Cas’d been living on his own for about a week when they met in July. His mother had only left after getting married to husband number five, which prompted her to move out of Cas’ mansion to go live somewhere in Pennsylvania. Before that, apparently she had been very _involved_ in Castiel’s day-to-day life, though Dean didn’t really like to think about that too deeply. That same night, Cas had pulled out an overflowing four-inch thick three-ring binder, and showed Dean how tight her schedule had been when she was living with him. He even pulled out the one he was supposed to be following in her absence, but he had mostly ignored it. The only part of her schedule that he stuck to was football practices and work out regimens, but that’s because it was part of his _job_. Dean just hoped that Cas had gotten a little warning, so that when she’d arrived at Cas’, Cas was doing whatever the fuck she had put on the schedule.

Dean shot back an _It’s ok man do what you gotta do_ , before walking back to his dorm room at McCollum Hall. While walking back to his building, Dean imagined his straightforward and stubborn friend being pushed around by his mother, and the picture didn’t look very good. He quickly sent Cas another text: _Call if you need me_.

A few minutes later: _Thanks. -Cas_

\---

Castiel didn’t call that night. He also didn’t send a seven o’clock text about quinoa sustainability or a ten o’clock text about how ridiculous it is that there are some people still don’t see the value of socialized medicine. He didn’t call Dean at midnight to discuss interstellar travel or what heaven’s like. 

Castiel didn’t call on Tuesday. There was no eight AM butt dial followed by a conversation about all the ingredients in Dean’s morning cereal. No noon text came, asking Dean what his plans were for the night and would he like to watch The Princess Bride and eat Thai food? That night, Dean again went to bed without pondering his place in the universe.

Before Castiel, Dean would’ve hated the idea of being tied to a schedule of ostensibly odd texts and calls. But Dean _did_ miss all the random facts and cultural observations and philosophical questions Castiel sent him. Cas' visits to Dean's dorm in the past few weeks had been almost daily occurrences; they’d spent hours lounging on Dean's futon couch under his lofted dorm bed, watching movies and reality shows on Dean’s tiny TV. He’d never admit it aloud, but Dean’d gotten used to having Cas around, and Dean missed him. 

Castiel didn’t call on Wednesday.

Dean checked his phone after his Wednesday afternoon Exercise Science class let out at two, but there was still nothing from Cas. It’s not like Dean was _worried_ or anything, but hearing nothing from Cas mean he was left him with an entire afternoon and evening to fill, all by himself. Under normal circumstances on a Wednesday night (or really, any other weeknight Cas was free), he’d be grabbing dinner with Cas or going to a movie with Cas or just hanging out here in his dorm room with Cas. 

When he got back to his dorm, he landed ungracefully on his futon couch, one leg hanging off, and stared listlessly at the underside of his bed. He thought about going over to bug his neighbor, Charlie Bradbury, but Dean had noticed when he got back to his room that Charlie had slung a Gryffindor tie over her doorknob. A tie on the doorknob meant lady in the room (so said the code they had established when they decided to be neighbors), and even in the depths of his boredom, Dean wouldn’t stoop to cockblocking Charlie. Dean grinned at the thought though; maybe interrupting one of her hookups would make her think twice about having loud, rough sex against their shared paper-thin wall in the wee hours of the morning.

If it’d been any other day of the week, Dean wouldn’t have been so dependent on Castiel’s plans for entertainment. On Thursdays Dean crammed into Charlie's room with way too many other people to play Dungeons & Dragons until the wee hours of the morning. The last few semesters on other weekday nights (when he didn’t have cheer practice), he and Benny’d find something to do; their usual fare was playing a Xbox game where the fought through Purgatory, but they also trawled the local diners and pubs from time to time. When the weather was good, they would even load up Benny’s piece of shit truck and go fishing. Like Charlie though, Benny had found romantic company for the evening and probably didn’t want Dean to join him. Dean had even gotten a heads-up text earlier in the day, waxing poetic about her hair, her eyes, her family’s fleet of yachts... 

Dean had rolled his eyes at the time, not realizing that Benny going out meant Dean staying in alone. Now he just  wondered why it seemed that everyone he knew had a girlfriend while he was still hopelessly single.

After deciding not to dwell _too_ long on his pitiful single-dom, Dean rolled up into a sitting position and eyed the school books piled neatly on his desk. As a last resort, he _could_ start reading for next week’s English class now instead of waiting to skim it the hour before class; if he got it out of the way, he might not stress about it over the weekend like he usually did.

Dean groaned and flopped back down onto his couch. He couldn’t believe he actually considered doing his homework _more than a day_ before it was due. This thing with Cas was starting to piss him off. It was Cas’ fault he was bored enough to actually think about getting his homework done early. Dean switched on his TV defiantly and grumbled about _stupid, unreliable cornerbacks_ , before realizing that he’d watched a few hours of TV (and had remembered none of it).  was fed up enough with feeling like a stood-up prom date to do something about it. He turned off the TV and reached for his phone when it started buzzing on his desk.

“Cas,” Dean breathed a sigh of relief into the phone, “I was just about to call you.”

“Thank you for being my friend, Dean.” Cas said sadly.

“Cas, are you okay? Is your mom still there?” 

“I just wanted you to know that I have _greatly_ appreciated your friendship these past few weeks.” Cas’ voice wobbled at the end of his sentence and Dean sighed knowingly.

“Cas … are you drunk?”

“Yes,” Cas stated, matter-of-factly, “Don’t ask stupid questions.” 

Dean rubbed his temples and sighed, “What happened?” 

“My mother left and I drank a bottle of tequila.”

“Oh man, Cas,” Dean said, scrambling for his keys, “I’m coming over. Gimme your address.”

\---

Dean found himself driving out to Castiel’s house for the first time that night. Under any other circumstances, Dean would have been thrilled to finally get a glimpse at Cas’ home, but with Cas’ drunken phone call still ringing in his ears, he was more anxious than anything else.

Cas lived in Mission Hills, a swanky Kansas suburb just south of Kansas City, and Dean had never had the occasion to go out that way. Over the past month, it was Castiel who always made the trip to Dean’s dorm; Dean’s days were busier, filled with work outs and cheer practices, and adding a long drive on top that just didn’t make any sense. But now Dean wondered if there was another reason that Cas had never invited Dean to his house, though Dean didn’t know if the word _house_ really described the thing Cas lived in. Maybe _mansion_ or _estate_ suited it better; something that by definition has a fucking groundskeeper. Well, whatever you wanted to call it was much too fancy for a simple guy like Dean.

After all, just to get Dean into Castiel’s neighborhood, Cas had called the guard at the gate to say Dean was coming. The guard still firmly (but politely) requested a picture ID from Dean to prove he wasn’t some interloper, intent on stalking or robbing or TPing the houses of the ultra rich people on the other side of the guard booth. Dean thought he might have to sign an affidavit to that effect when the guard let Dean in with a warning pat on the taser in his hip holster. 

Dean drove slowly through Cas’ gated community, gripping Baby’s steering wheel probably just a tad too tightly, as he peered out of the windows to catch a glimpse of Cas’ home. He drove by house after house, each connected to the street by long driveways flanked by immaculate lawns. Some houses even had additional gates of their own, with high, thick walls and dense foliage providing privacy and added security. He compared numbers on each house he passed (though they were nearly impossible to read as the houses they marked sat back dozens of yards or more from the street) to the number he’d hastily scrawled on a purple post-it note before bolting from his dorm. He considered turning around after driving down one winding road after another to no avail, when he finally found a match. Dean huffed a small sigh of relief when he saw Cas' comparatively smallish-sized home. Some other time, Dean’d have to get the full tour of Cas’ large home and grounds, but at that moment he was less worried about the impressive architecture and landscaping of Cas’ home than finding Cas facedown in a pool of his own vomit. 

He parked the Impala in the driveway, opened his door and swung one leg out as he grabbed his duffel from the passenger seat. Dean had packed a few essentials from his dorm room after hearing the phrase “I drank a bottle of tequila,” remembering the way he spent his weekends freshman year. He seriously hoped Cas’d been hyperbolic for one goddamned time in his life, and hadn’t drank an entire bottle of tequila, or at least the bottle had been very small. 

Dean was mentally preparing himself for the worst possible scenario when a voice came from just outside the Impala, “Dean, is that you?”

“Shit, Cas!” Dean yelped. Somehow Castiel had manifested out of fucking thin air next to the driver’s side door as Dean had moved to grab his duffel. 

Cas leaned in over Dean's leg to peer at him, trapping Dean halfway in and halfway out of the vehicle. “You look … not like you.”

“Oh,” Dean said, as he reached in the infinitesimal space between them to touch the glasses he’d forgotten he was wearing. Dean felt oddly vulnerable wearing them in front of Cas, but he hadn’t thought about the fact that he’d already taken out his contacts for the night when he gathered up his stuff and raced out of his dorm. Hell, he’d slept in his contacts with his last two sexual partners (and had learned to keep a small bottle of saline solution in the Impala for such emergencies), and most people had no idea he even wore them.

Other than family, the last person who saw him wearing glasses was Charlie. Their sophomore year, she’d picked the lock to Dean’s dorm room (thinking it was hers) in the middle of the night after leaving her keys god knows where. As soon as she’d jimmied the door open, she’d gotten an eyeful of a half-dressed Dean wearing his glasses (it was the same pair he’d had for ages, wire-rimmed, with one nose pad half-falling off). He was honestly _less_ embarrassed that she’d seen him in his socks and threadbare boxer shorts than in his glasses, which he’d quickly scrambled to throw off when she entered unexpectedly. 

He hadn’t scrambled fast enough though; he found out the next day that Charlie changed his name in her phone to ‘Urkel’. 

“My mother doesn’t want me to see you anymore. She thinks you’re a bad influence,” Cas said, pausing as he backed away on shaky legs to let Dean properly get out of the Impala, “... on me.”

Dean pulled himself out of the car and saw the complete devastation written on Cas’ face. Dean felt a mixture of emotion swirl in his gut. He was indignant for his friend since Cas was an adult who could make his own choices, furious at his mother for making him so upset, and maybe a little sad at the thought of never seeing Cas again.

“Okay, new rule. No serious conversations in the driveway.” Dean slung Cas’ arm over his shoulders. “Especially when one or both parties are three sheets to the wind.”

Dean steered Cas into his spacious home through the entryway, arm still wrapped around Cas’ shoulders. There was only a tiny stumble on the rug in the den, before Dean dropped the drunk man onto one of the stools at the kitchen island. Dean warily eyed the fifth of tequila on the counter, thankfully just under half-full and asked where Cas kept his drinking glasses. Cas pointed sluggishly, and only sort of in the correct direction. It took Dean three cabinets, and one long frustrated sigh from Cas, but he finally found the drinking glasses. He pulled one out and poured a glass of water from the tap, before handing it very carefully to Cas. 

“There’s filtered water in the fridge.” Cas squinted hard at the glass of water, like if he looked hard enough, all impurities in the water would blink out of existence.

“Tap’s fine,” Dean said, “Drink your water. And I mean all of it.” Cas dutifully downed the glass of water, wobbling a little at the end, while Dean got out another glass from the correct cabinet for himself. He took his time grabbing the glass and walking over to the sink to fill it up so he could check out Cas’ large, state-of-the-art kitchen. It had probably been billed as ‘great for entertaining’, both referring to its massive size and the way the room flowed seamlessly into the den. Dean wondered if Castiel had decorated the kitchen after moving in; the beige cabinets and light-colored granite countertops didn’t exactly scream _Cas_ , but the retro-style appliances looked like something Cas might have picked out. He refilled Castiel’s after filling his own, this time using the pitcher in the refrigerator. He put the now-full glass back into Cas’ outstretched hand, while pulling out the stool next to Cas and sitting down. “Okay, now give it to me.”

“Give you what? I don’t have anything for you, Dean.” Cas sipped his water and squinted at Dean.  
  
Dean exasperatedly rubbed his eyes under his glasses. “Oh my God, Cas, I mean, tell me about what happened with your mom.” 

“Oh, that.” Cas put down his glass on the counter gingerly. “She found out somehow that I wasn’t following my _preapproved schedule_ , and part of that disobedience was spending time with _you_.” He stared at his glass again with a softer look of longing than his previous intense stare. 

“She doesn’t approve of our friendship. She says a boy like you will bring down everything we’ve worked for and end my career,” Cas said to the glass of water.

“Hey,” Dean tilted his head down to catch Cas’ eyes. “Did you tell her that _you_ started it? That you went off the reservation before you even met me? That it was your choice?” 

“I said as much to her, though not in so many words,” Cas smiled wistfully, “She told me to call you to tell you we couldn’t be friends anymore.”

Dean let out a guffaw. “Does she think we’re in third grade? _My mom said we can’t play together anymore_. Pssh.” Dean slapped Castiel on the shoulder, smiling broadly. “After all, _you’re_ the one who made the first move. You drove what, forty-five out of your way to come see me?”

“That _is_ true,” Cas said quietly. He sighed and turned away again.

“So, what happened next?”

“She became very upset and I kicked her out,” Cas stated matter-of-factly. Dean smiled at him, one corner tilting higher than the other.

“Well, good for you, Cas,” Dean said affectionately and clapped Cas on the shoulder.

\--

After getting the whole story out of Cas, he took a turn for the worst. Not two sentences later, Cas’ speech wandered off into incoherency, and Dean decided it was time to get him to bed. Pulling Castiel up the fancy hardwood stairs to said bedroom proved to be a nearly Sisyphean task, with Cas’ socked feet slipping and almost causing them to topple over on the second to last step. Fortunately for Cas, Dean had an iron grip around his waist, and Cas only suffered a bruised ego. Or he would have, if he had been coherent enough to feel shame. Dean dumped the uncooperative dead weight on the bed in the master suite and went to collect supplies for the night, hoping that he was able to pick out useful directions to the laundry room from Cas’ garbled ramblings. 

Dean came back a few minutes later with a towel and a bucket, which he set up by the side of the bed (“If you’re gonna puke, aim for the bucket.”), along with another glass of water and some aspirin. Dean thought with a smirk that if Castiel were lucky, he might even wake up with his first hangover ever.

Before finding his own place to crash, Dean decided to tackle the problem of Cas lying face down on the bed, fully-dressed, semi-conscious and mumbling. Dean reasoned that Cas would sleep better with fewer clothes on, so he started by pulling Cas from his sprawled position up to a semi-sitting one. 

“Alright, big boy,” Dean said, clapping his hands to get Cas’ attention, “arms up.” 

Dean yanked Cas’ long sleeve t-shirt over Cas’ head by pulling awkwardly from the ends of the sleeves. Dean’s sanity and sense of decency benefitted from this method of shirt removal, as it put him in the least amount of contact with the pliant and warm Castiel. Shirt off, Cas fell back on to the bed and, in a moment of surprising cooperation, unbuttoned his own fly. After tugging at his pants for a few seconds and growling in frustration, Dean rolled his eyes and crouched down to pull off Cas’ jeans by the cuffs. Castiel, propped up on his elbows, obligingly lifted his hips to help Dean with his pants. Cas had enough presence of mind to hold his boxer briefs in place so they wouldn’t come off with his jeans, and Dean was suddenly thankful for the little things, because he doubted he would have been able to handle a completely naked Castiel. 

Still, looking up from his crouched position, Dean couldn’t help but notice toned pectorals and obliques hidden usually hidden by t-shirts and pads and jerseys, wrapped in stretches of tan skin. Dean's eyes skated over a small tattoo that looked like squiggles under his left ribs that he would have to ask Cas about later. And shit, Cas had a happy trail. Dean whimpered and licked his lips, hoping Cas was too far gone to notice. Cas, however, had immediately passed out after losing his pants, sparing Dean any embarrassment for his brazen ogling.

Dean sighed deeply; getting Castiel set up for the night was going to be much harder with him completely unconscious, though probably better for Dean and his growing crush. After tugging futilely at Cas’ soft duvet and sheets, Dean instead flipped the uncooperative man onto his stomach to pull out the covers and tuck him in. This new view of Cas’ naked back afforded Dean a close up of Cas’ famous giant wing tattoos. They sprouted elegantly from his shoulder blades, the long feathers stretching to his waist and trailing down his arms almost to his elbows. Dean had gotten glimpses of the tips of the feathers during Angels games and at the Angels training camp, but from up close they were much more magnificent than he had imagined. Dean’s fingers ached to reach out and touch, to test whether the inky feathers that covered his back and stretched down his arms felt as soft and as lifelike as the artist had rendered them. 

Dean stopped himself mid-reach. He struggled to pull himself back and focus on Cas’ health as Cas snored softly, ignorant of Dean’s almost-touches. Turning Cas on his side so he wouldn’t drown in his own vomit, he propped Cas up with a few throw pillows and double checked that his phone was plugged in and charging nearby in case of an emergency. Dean congratulated himself for paying attention during that boring ass ‘what to do if your buddy has had too much’ class as a freshman, since it looked like that knowledge would ensure Cas would make it through the night. 

Dean _did_ let himself lightly run his fingers through Cas’ hair a few times, brushing it off Cas’ slightly sweaty forehead. He sighed with frustration, wanting nothing more than to curl himself around his friend, but he dragged himself from Cas to grab his duffel and find his own bed for the night.

\---

Dean woke the next morning to the dulcet tones of a grown man groaning and violently barfing. 

Despite the somewhat disgusting wake up call, Dean’d had some of the best sleep of his life. After leaving Castiel in the master bedroom, Dean had shucked off his clothes and fallen face-first onto the bed in the room next to Cas’. He’d crashing almost immediately and woken up disoriented from sleeping in an unfamiliar bed after a dreamless sleep. He reached for his glasses on the side table, but found more bed than he was used to. As he groped around for the side table, he groggily thought that sleeping in Castiel’s guest room (really, _one_ of Castiel’s guest rooms) was like a fancy vacation he didn’t have to feel guilty about spending the money for. The bedding even looked like it came from a hotel, all floral prints in neutral colors with a million soft down pillows. Dean half-crawled, half-wiggled across the bed on his stomach, one naked ass cheek peeking out from the comforter, as he felt around for his glasses. He silently prayed to whatever god might be listening that Cas waited to come find him until he found his glasses and pulled on his boxers. 

“ _Deeeean_ , I think I’m dying,” Cas whined from somewhere over Dean’s shoulder, and the universe hated Dean.

“Jesus Christ, Cas!” Dean started, quickly pulling on his glasses. He could see Cas over his shoulder and Cas did not look good. 

To be more accurate, Cas looked newly emerged from a natural disaster. One half of his hair stuck to the side of his head, while the other half stood straight out. He gripped his head with both hands in the universal symbol for "colossal headache," his bloodshot eyes and somewhat green complexion enhancing the effect. Over his wrinkled boxer briefs, Cas wore a white t-shirt that had Dean considering calling in a hazmat unit to take it away. It looked like it had just barely survived several years worth of football practices, before being rolled it up in a ball and left in a hole to rot. And then Cas had somehow fished it out to throw on this morning. 

Retching had not been good to Cas, but Dean had somehow never been more attracted to his friend. 

“Dean, are you naked?” Cas tilted his head and squinted at Dean’s bare ass. Dean blushed under the scrutiny and wrangled the blanket out from under his leg to cover his naked lower half all while trying not to expose his undercarriage as he did so. He propped himself up in bed, face a little flushed and blankets firmly secured around his waist.

“Uh, how are you, uh, feeling this morning, Cas?” Dean asked, desperate to change the subject from his nakedness.

“Dean, I’m dying.” Cas repeated seriously, gingerly lowering himself to perch on the side of the bed. 

“You’re not dying.” Dean said firmly, rolling his eyes. 

“I woke up and I vomited. I have never done that before. I also took the medicine you left for me and drank the glass of water, but --” Cas grabbed his head and wobbled.

“It still feels like someone took a jackhammer to your skull while you were sleeping?” Dean chuckled. 

“Why are you laughing at me?” Cas’ head snapped up, briefly wincing at the pain of the sudden movement, before fixing Dean with the meanest look he could muster. 

“I’m not laughing _at_ you, man,” Dean said, punching Cas lightly on the shoulder. At the offending remark, Cas tried to give Dean a fierce glare and a retaliatory punch, but Cas’ soft messy hair and slightly unfocused look negated the effect. And his punch completely failed to connect with any part of Dean.

“I just remember the last time I was that smashed,” Dean explained, trying to keep any mirth out of his voice.

Cas affixed Dean with a look of genuine curiosity. “How did you survive?” At the honesty in Castiel’s face and the sincerity in his tone, Dean started laughing again.

“It’s not funny, Dean.” Cas shook Dean’s shoulder, “Dean, stop laughing. It’s _not funny_.” Dean doubled over in laughter and Cas pursed his lips, crossing his arms petulantly. 

“Okay, okay I’ll stop,” Dean sobered up a little, wiping the tears from his eyes, “I know it’s not funny, but I haven’t laughed that hard in ages.”

“I’m glad my misery provides you with entertainment,” Cas squared his shoulders and turned his back to Dean, still sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean gently touched Castiel’s upper arm, “I’m sorry. I really mean it.” Cas’ shoulders relaxed a little and he glanced over his shoulder at Dean.

“Why don’t you go take a shower,” Dean suggested, “It’ll make you feel a whole lot better, and we can have some breakfast before I have to go back to campus.” Cas nodded in agreement and Dean gave Cas a little shove on his lower back to get him going, holding back a giggle as Cas stumbled out of the room. 

Dean waited until he could heard the water running in the master bedroom before throwing off his protective barrier of blankets. He quickly snatched a clean pair of boxers from his duffel before sprinting into the ensuite bathroom for his own shower.

With hot water beating down on him and not much else to distract him, Dean couldn’t help but think about his friendship with Cas. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this level of comfort with another person. Hell, he had just been _naked_ , in his _glasses_ in front of Cas and he hadn’t felt weird at all (well, a little weird, but he was _naked_ after all). Dean was fairly easy-going guy and pretty quick to make friends. Even so, his other friendships had formed over weeks and months and parties and cheer camps and other social interactions, and he’d never been so open and exposed, preferring to hold at least a part of himself back. Castiel, however, was the exception. Cas had just stormed into Dean’s life like he’d always belonged there, and Dean was surprised to discover that he _liked_ it. 

Cas was, after all, unlike anyone Dean had met before. For one, Dean’d never met a more honest person. At first Dean thought Cas’ direct approach was rude and mean-spirited. Now Dean liked that he never had to wonder if Cas was using double speak or lying to spare Dean’s feelings. 

Then, Castiel was also a certified genius as far as Dean was concerned. Dean had done pretty well in the couple of honors classes he'd taken in high school, but when it came to intelligence, Cas outstripped him by miles. Or light years, really. Dean’d known plenty of kids like Cas in his high school classes, and they had always looked down on Dean for his tactile methods of learning, practical knowledge, and preference for the whole picture over the minute details. Cas, instead, liked _sharing_ his knowledge, and he also enjoyed learning from Dean’s perspective on things. 

The first time Cas had called wanting to discuss ‘our place in the universe,’ Dean had only hesitantly shared his opinion at first, since he couldn’t believe that Cas actually wanted to hear what Dean had to say. While they often found some common ground as these talks happened more and more, they still had plenty to disagree on. Dean tended to paint with broad strokes (philosophically speaking) with a clear cut sense of right and wrong, which conflicted with Castiel’s interest in intricate patterns and love of pragmatism. To Dean’s great surprise, Castiel _never_ used his superior familiarity with a subject to shut Dean down. After years of being told by teachers (and friends, and friends’ parents, and even John more than once) that he was wrong and wasting his potential, Cas’ genuine interest in Dean’s thoughts and point of view made a warmth blossom in Dean’s chest where there had only been the crushing weight of disappointment before.

And finally, there were times when Castiel showed such a single-minded devotion, it amazed and terrified Dean at turns. 

Most of the time, this translated to Dean not being able do a damn thing to stop Cas or change his mind. So, Dean ate Indian food a few more times than he would’ve otherwise and saw a movie about giant monsters three times in theatres (“Don’t you get it, Dean? It’s a metaphor for human’s struggles against nature and the divine!” “Cas, shut up. No talking during the movie remember? We’ve been over this.”). 

But sometimes Cas’ particular brand of tenacity resulted in awe-inspiring wrath. On one occasion a few days prior to Cas’ tequila binge, they had been leaving a hole-in-the-wall diner just outside of Lawrence when a pair of grizzled and sun-weathered bikers started catcalling at Dean, and telling him how pretty his mouth was. In a blink of an eye, Cas had slammed the most vocal man up against the diner wall, using his large hand to push against the man’s airway. 

“You _will_ apologize or I _will_ crush your windpipe. Is that clear?” Cas asked, voice coursing with the promise of violence. When Dean had first seen Cas in person, playing at that game with Sam and Bobby, he had thought of Cas as _absolute_. Now, faced with Castiel’s fury and fire, any other description flew out of Dean's mind, leaving him just to gawk at Castiel. The old man sputtered out an apology and Cas dropped him on the concrete. 

“ _Get out of here_ ,” he bit out, trenchcoat billowing out behind him like enormous wings, and the two men scrambled off and hopped on their bikes. Castiel took in a deep breath, and when he let it out, all of the wrath seemed to go with it. Men gone, they walked in silence toward the Impala, almost as if nothing had happened at all. When they reached the car, Dean on the driver’s side and Cas on the passenger’s, Dean paused to look at Cas.

“Dude, it was no big deal. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before,” Dean said over the top of the Impala, shrugging. 

Castiel’s face turned hard again. “Dean, it was a very big deal,” Cas said before throwing open the passenger door and throwing himself in the car. He gave Dean the silent treatment until they got back to the resident parking lot near Dean’s dorm, and he had only barely calmed down again by the time they had gotten out of the car and were saying their goodbyes.

“I just --,” Cas paused, eyebrows furrowing as he frowned, before trying again, “I mean, it’s that you shouldn’t think of yourself that way, Dean. Like you don’t deserve someone standing up for you.” Dean listened to the ticking of the engine as she cooled off, since he could tell Cas wasn’t quite finished with him. After a long pause, Cas added, “You’re the best thing to ever happen to me, Dean.”

Before Dean could get his brain to even begin processing that last statement, Castiel disappeared, jumping into his car and driving off without another word. Dean fell back against his car, baffled and disbelieving. He wasn’t the best thing to ever happen to _anyone_. In fact, Dean often wondered if anyone had ever loved him as much as he loved them or really ever wanted him around. Cas’ statement made him rethink that outlook on relationships, and Dean let the knowledge that he was important to Cas chase away his insecurities -- at least, for now. 

Dean came back to himself, turning off the water and stepping out of Cas’ guest room shower, the cool air of the bathroom making him shiver. The memory of Cas fighting for Dean, telling Dean he was important, though, chased away any lingering chill. Goofy grin plastered on his face, he strolled out of the bathroom and rifled through his duffel before pulling on a clean t-shirt and the jeans he wore the day before. 

Once dressed, Dean padded down the hall to find Cas standing barefoot in the middle of the master bedroom, white dress shirt laying unbuttoned across his broad shoulders and exposing his tanned chest. Dean waited in the doorway, holding his breath and silently watching as Cas’ agile fingers did up the buttons. Cas pulled bottom lip between his teeth in concentration, while his hair, still wet from the shower, dripped water on his collar. Cas looked like every sex fantasy Dean would never admit to having. 

“Oh,” Cas looked up from his shirt and spotted Dean in the doorway, “ready for breakfast?” Dean nodded and willed his mouth not to water.

“Yeah, let’s go,” he said roughly, stepping out of the doorway to let Cas lead him to the kitchen.

 


	3. Chapter 3

The most unexpected thing to come out of Dean’s month-long friendship with Castiel Novak was that Cas seemed to acquire a sixth sense when it came to Dean. 

It had come on slowly, but Dean could see it now. When they were together, Castiel acted like he _knew_ Dean, the _real_ Dean, and he could see through the layers of bullshit and posturing Dean wore around everyone else. He had figured out how to tell what Dean was thinking and knew exactly the right thing to say to Dean in any given situation. He even knew when to push Dean, and when to back off and let Dean have his space. 

Truthfully, Cas didn’t _really_ know Dean -- he couldn’t -- because if Cas knew all the fucked up shit about Dean, there’s no way he’d stick around. But Dean let himself pretend that Cas understood him, he reveled in the feeling of being _known_ (no matter how unearned), and it exhilarated him. 

Dean liked to think he had a certain understanding of Cas, too. He understood Cas’ dry humor and his seemingly boundless intellectual curiosity. Dean let Cas do what he wanted and Cas shared himself with Dean. There were some things about Cas, however, that were indisputably off limits, topics of conversation that Dean had learned the hard way not to bring up. Mentioning Cas’ mom or the rest of Cas’ family always stopped a conversation dead in its tracks. Dean has also learned that Cas’ school years seemed to be a fraught topic not to be brought up -- ever. Then there were other times when Dean had no idea what he said to make Cas completely shut down. Dean figured whatever shameful thing in Cas’ past couldn’t be as bad as Dean’ shittastic last few years, but he respected Cas’ privacy and didn’t press the issue.

Dean could understand wanting to keep something to himself; after all, Dean hadn’t exactly been forthcoming about his friendship with Castiel to his friends and family. Sam and Bobby were completely in the dark about Cas; Dean still hadn’t really figured out how to break the news to them, and he didn’t know if he even _wanted_ to tell them. Cas wasn’t super famous like Tom Brady or Peyton Manning, but he also wasn’t a no-name hack lineman, either. Anyone who paid attention to football knew Cas was bound for the hall of fame if he kept up playing as he had since the Angels [drafted](%20) him. To make matters weirder, Bobby, the world’s biggest Angels fan, _definitely_ knew who Castiel was. 

Bobby’d even mentioned Cas to Dean during a phone call the previous week when he’d called to discuss the Angels’ [pre-season game](%20) in Houston. Sam and football didn’t mix, and he’d needed a sympathetic ear. 

“And didya _see_ Novak?,” Bobby had asked, excitement evident in his voice, “He made some _unbelievable_ plays in the first quarter! All I know is that I’d hate to be a wide receiver on any team playin’ the Angels _this_ year.” 

Dean felt his face heat up at the mention of Cas. He replied with some unintelligible semi-affirmative grunting, and then quickly changed the subject. He figured he could keep Cas to himself for now. 

Well, almost all to himself. Charlie had met Cas, literally running into him as she came out of her room on dorm move-in day. But that had been _Cas_ , the trenchcoat-wearing, random-facts spewing, cartoon-loving friend of Dean, not _Castiel Novak_ , NCAA Defensive Player of the Year two years in a row and currently one of the top-ten cornerbacks to ever play in the NFL. Although, Dean’s not really sure what she’d do with that information if she knew that Cas and Castiel were the same person. Last season she had watched the [NFC championship](%20) with Dean; or really, she had started watching the game before Dean’d banished her back to her room for excessive, off-topic talking, complaining about how there are no ladies in football, and not understanding the rules. Dean figured that it’s not like she would get it or even care, so he thought he’d just better to keep her in the dark. 

Benny was the only person who knew that Dean’s quirky friend Cas was also Angels’ cornerback Castiel Novak. Benny hadn’t seen Cas since their shared practice in July, but he quickly became Dean’s confidant for all things Castiel, especially after Cas’ regular text messages started pouring in. Since Benny had already met Cas (and had been sworn to secrecy since a frat party their freshman year about Dean’s long-held attraction to Castiel), Dean liked to use Benny as a sounding-board for all things Cas-related. Like how great Cas’ house was, or that Cas was fucking hilarious once attuned to his humor, or that Cas looked _fantastic_ nearly naked. 

Dean treasured his time with Cas, nearly naked or not, even above being honest with his friends and family. And now that he had made the trek out to Cas’ house once, he started to make hanging out there a regular occurrence. Not just because Cas had the big, fancy TV or the super plush oversized couch (though those were great perks, too), but because he found _Cas_ tucked away in all its nooks and crannies. When Dean had first seen the house in daylight, he’d thought Cas’ mother, whose name he found out later was Naomi, _must’ve_ been in charge of choosing the house and decorating all three million rooms; on first glance, the place definitely had the taste of someone not-Cas all over the place. But from time to time, Dean found something in the house that could only be Castiel. Dean took these little decorating anomalies as glimpses into Cas’ personality, and Dean enjoyed learning about Cas from the way he made a room his own. 

Like the library, for example. It was an overgrown jungle of a room and lacked the sophisticated beiges and dainty florals of the rest of the house. The walls had instead been painted a deep, earthy green, and mismatched vintage furniture interspersed with large wide-leafed plants filled the room. The variety of books in the library could also only be Cas’ doing, since they ranged from medical textbooks and leather-bound classics to pulpy sci-fi paperbacks and every issue of Hellboy. 

The master bedroom was similarly all-Castiel. It still had the inoffensive off-white walls of the other bedrooms, but instead of an appropriately-sized (if not luxurious) bed, a massive four-poster made of dark intricately-carved wood, covered in an ocean blue down-filled duvet and about a hundred throw pillows dominated his bedroom. Dean had just seen it the one time, and his energy had been spent making sure Cas didn’t choke on his own vomit rather than taking in the room, but Dean imagined tumbling into the inviting comfort of Cas’ king-sized bed, and making good use of the solid posts and Cas’ large tie collection. 

If pressed though, Dean would have to say that the the kitchen was his favorite room in the house. Of all the rooms in Cas’ home, it probably had the _least_ amount of Cas in it, but that just meant Dean could easily slip into that space and make it his own. He took over the kitchen easily, carving out a space in Castiel’s house the same way he had carved out a space in Castiel’s life. And just as Cas had easily accepted him, so had Cas’ home.

“This kitchen is pretty fucking amazing,” Dean said a week after Cas’ first bender, taking the first possible opportunity to get a real look at the room. He ran his hands lovingly over the gas range and paused to fiddle with the dials. After getting Cas’ permission, Dean had made it his mission to catalog every inch of the space, pushing all the buttons on the in-cabinet coffee maker, pulling out all the drawers in the (woefully under-stocked) refrigerator, checking out all the settings on the dishwasher, turning on and off the water on the industrial faucet, and so on.

“I don’t really use it. I mean, it came with the house,” Cas shrugged, leaning on the door frame and letting Dean explore, “The realtor told me it was a --” Cas brought up his hands for air quotes again, “chef’s kitchen.”  

Dean rolled his eyes and squatted down to dig around in the cabinets under the island. Castiel walked into the kitchen proper, coming up behind Dean where he rifled through the cabinets.

“Dean, what are you looking for?” Cas asked over the din of metal on metal, peering over Dean’s shoulder as Dean rifled through the pots and pans. His only answer was a few minutes of more metalic clanging and Dean looking jealously at some of Cas’ pots.

“Okay,” Dean clapped, standing up abruptly. Castiel had to scramble to back up from his position bent over Dean to avoid being knocked over. 

“So I’ve taken stock of your kitchen,” Dean said and grabbed a pen and the pad of paper magnetically stuck to Cas’ refrigerator. He knew Cas used that particular pad of paper to scrawl notes to his housekeeper, and smiled to himself as Cas, predictably annoyed, eyed Dean disapprovingly. Cas opened his mouth, admonishment on his lips about the improper use of _that_ pad of paper, before Dean cut him off.

“You have basically nothing to cook in this whole house, but you do have all the pots and pans and utensils and implements I could ever hope to think of, so we are going to the store and I’m going to make you the best goddamn meal you’ve ever eaten in your life,” Dean announced, quickly scrawling down a grocery list.

“Are you going to burn down my kitchen if I let you do this?” Cas crossed him arms, squinting at Dean and not entirely convinced that Dean knew what he was doing. 

Dean pulled his list of the pad with a flourish. “Come on,” Dean said, clapping Cas on the shoulder and beginning to lead him to his car, “I’ve been cooking for ages, and I can guarantee anything I make is better than all the take out in Kansas City. Trust me, man.” 

Cas shot Dean a considering look and sighed, “I _do_ trust you, Dean.” 

Goosebumps broke out across Dean’s arms. Every time Castiel said something like that, there seemed to be so much more weight behind it, more than just _I trust you to not burn down my fancy ass kitchen_. Dean tried to not let his face show how he felt, but internally, he clung to moments like these. He had never had a whole lot of people in his life telling him shit like “I trust you,” and “You’re the best thing to happen to me,” and “You’re the exception,” especially not since his mom died. The more he got to know Cas though, Cas’ statement of unwavering trust in the kitchen seemed to be more of the rule than the exception. 

Dean tried not to think too hard about the implications of Cas’ statement as Dean again made the forty-five minute drive to Cas’ home on the last Tuesday evening before the beginning of the KU and Angels’ football seasons. Tuesdays were really the only day of the week Dean had free this semester: no classes, no practices and no football games. Through luck or coincidence, Cas was also going to have most Tuesdays free when the season started up, and Dean planned to make use of their shared time off to lounge around Cas’ house as much as possible.

When he got to Cas’, he parked in what he had started to consider his usual spot in Cas’ driveway, before getting out and walking up to the door. He rang the doorbell, rocking back and forth on his heels while he waited for Cas to open the door. 

Dean waited for a few minutes and considered ringing the doorbell again when a harried-looking Castiel opened the door. “I’m so sorry, Dean,” Castiel said, pulling Dean inside, “My mother was on the phone, and then she heard the doorbell, and then I had to make up a story about a pizza man to get her to hang up.” 

“Dude, that sounds like the beginning of a porno,” Dean laughed as he let Cas drag him by the upper arm through the house.

Castiel shot Dean a look of annoyance and led him into the kitchen, before pushing Dean to sit down at one of the tall stools around the island.

“She always makes me feel --” Castiel rubbed his temples and grasped for the word, frustrated and angry.

“Impotent?” Dean offered with a smirk.

Castiel scowled, “I was going for powerless, but thank you for insulting my virility.”

“Oh come on, Cas. You’re a professional football player. No one is questioning your virility.” Dean smirked again and Cas gave him an eye roll in response.

“I’m going to get a drink,” Cas called over his shoulder as he walked to the wine cellar, “And just _one_ drink; I haven’t forgotten last time.”

“Does your mother always drive you to drink? And I’ll have whatever you’re having, as long as it’s not too froofy,” Dean said distractedly as he rifled through some magazines and catalogs on the island in the kitchen.

“Dean, you can have water or soda,” Cas said as he came out of the wine cellar with a bottle of Lagavulin sixteen year-old scotch.

“No way, Cas, you’ve got the good stuff,” Dean stood up and reached for the $100 bottle as Cas deftly pulled it behind his back, out of reach. Dean grabbed around Cas’ back and his forward momentum pushed their chests together as they grappled for the alcohol. Cas spun around to protect the bottle by holding it to his chest, Dean’s arms coming around his sides to make a play for the scotch.

“Okay, okay, fine, you can have some, Dean,” Castiel laughed, looking over his shoulder and a flushed and laughing Dean. He pulled out of Dean’s loose hold on him to grab some lowball glasses, pouring two fingers in each glass and handing one to Dean.

“You know, I could go to jail for this. Providing alcohol to underage persons is a misdemeanor,” Castiel said seriously, but made no move to take the drink from Dean. Instead, he walked into the den with his drink and sprawled out on one end of the couch. Dean followed him and plopped down on the other end.

“Cas, you won’t go jail.” Dean rolled his eyes. “You’re a white football player with oodles of cash to hire a sleazy defense attorney. Plus, you won’t go to jail if you don’t tell anyone, and it’s not like there are undercover cops lurking in your wine cellar.” Dean picked up the universal remote on the coffee table and fiddled with it until Firefly started back up where they’d last left off a few days before. They watched an episode together, laughing at appropriate times, commenting on the coolness of Malcolm Reynolds, and discussing the logistics of space travel. Cas even refilled their drinks (“Just _one_ more, Dean”) when Dean got up to switch out the disks, before settling back in to finish the series. 

“Dean,” Cas said, halfway through ‘The Message’. Dean grabbed the remote and pressed pause, turning his attention toward Castiel. “Tell me something I don’t know about you.”

“What do you want to know?” Dean asked, startled by the sudden, probing question.

“Shit,” Cas grinned into his almost-empty glass and Dean could already tell that his friend was quite the lightweight. “I dunno. What are your aspirations? What’s your deepest, darkest secret? What were you like in high school?”

“In high school?” Dean instinctively latched onto the last question, “I don’t know, man. High school was rough.” 

Dean took a deep breath as the constant onslaught of shit hurled at him, both overtly by his classmates and under the guise of concern by his father, came rushing back to him. He remembered his struggles to be a good role model for Sammy, doing his best in classes. He remembered desperately trying to stay out of trouble, despite it clinging to him like a shadow. He remembered how angry and powerless and lost he felt on a daily basis, how he could do nothing to change it. 

“Well,” Dean continued, opting for cocky condescension rather than a sincere answer, “I was a male cheerleader. What do you _think_ I was like in high school?”

Cas pursed lips and looked up from his glass at Dean studiously. All of Dean’s attitude melted away under Cas’ genuine scrutiny. Somehow, despite obviously feeling the effects of the scotch, Cas’ eyes were just as clear and piercing as ever, and Dean worried that they really _could_ see through his carefully crafted outer layer of protective bullshit. Dean still doubted that Cas would like what he saw underneath: the real Dean, the unsure and insecure Dean locked away behind a heavy door and wallpapered over with bravado and a flirtatious smile.

“No. I, uh --” Dean started again, absently pulling at a loose string on his shirt, “didn’t have it easy for a while is what I meant.” Dean paused to collect himself and Cas’ open expression encouraged Dean to continue. 

“I was a little shit,” Dean chuckled mirthlessly to himself, “all tough posturing and trying to _be a man_ , you know. And trying to be myself and also be who my father wanted me to be at the same time wasn’t particularly easy. But you know, the other guys see male cheerleader and think …,” Dean vaguely gestured to himself, “you know.”

“Think what, Dean?” Cas’ face scrunched up in confusion.

“You know, Cas. You _know_.” Dean looked at Cas, begging Cas not to make him say it.

“Oh,” Cas said quietly and looked back at his glass, “they assumed you were homosexual.”

“And it’s not like they were wrong … in a sense.” Dean’s face heated up. He immediately wanted to take back his quiet confession said into his now empty glass. 

He shook off the bad memories and turned his whole body toward Castiel, cocky grin back in place, “But let’s not talk about me anymore. What was it like in high school for you, man?” 

A dark look flashed over Castiel’s features. For a moment, Dean was sure that this was it, conversation over and Dean’s ass kicked to the curb. But then Cas surprised Dean, and turned to mirror Dean’s position, one leg folded up under him and the other dangling off the side of the couch.

“Not too different than it is now, I suppose,” Cas started, “I had a different stepfather, and I also had a stepsister. We lived in Texas at the time, which was good for me since that state has a _frightening_ love affair with high school football. I also had classes to go to, which is another thing that’s different between then and now --”

“No,” Dean halted Cas, putting up a hand to stop him, “I mean, what were _you_ like?” Dean gestured to Cas, waving his arm up and down.

“Oh,” Cas said, turning away from Dean and fixing another one of his intense stares on a spot on the far wall, “I was … obedient to a fault, Dean. It made my relationship with my stepsister fraught, and looking back, I think I missed out on some things because I was so devoted to my mother and her plans for me.” Usually, when he mentioned his mother, Cas seemed close to snapping, just on the edge of anger and frustration. This time, he just looked so much smaller than he ever had to Dean. Dean was used to the man he saw on the football field, the man who complained about reality television, and the man who thought wearing a trenchcoat in August in Kansas was a good idea. This Castiel had been worn down by time and loneliness and a weight much too heavy for him.

“But I had doubts, Dean, even back then. Was this really how I wanted to spend my life? Fighting on a made-up battlefield for ten or so years, less if I was injured or just unlucky, and then left with no skills and no experience to start a career in my mid- to late-thirties.” He turned finally to make eye contact with Dean and finished, “This life looked much more bleak when I was sixteen.” 

“Damn,” Dean said, unsure of how to proceed. Dean had sometimes wondered how a man in Castiel’s position, with the wealth and fame and status afforded to him by his profession, could be so _Castiel_ -like. Obviously, the guy had issues, but Dean had no idea what thread to even begin chasing in Cas’ brief revelation of his past. 

So Dean decided to try lightening the mood: “Isn’t sixteen when you’re supposed to think you’re the shit and invincible and nothing can ever go wrong?” 

“Well, it seems I didn’t get that memo.” Cas sent him a wry smile, “When I was sixteen, I was reading everything I could get my hands on, and not just books, but articles in magazines and newspapers and academic journals. My view of the world was changing, but I felt trapped, unable to change my destiny.”

“See this is why you’re a twenty-seven year-old virgin.” Dean waggled his finger at Cas. “Sixteen is supposed to be when you get all of your fucking up out of your system so you can grow up to be a normal person.” Cas chuckled at Dean’s idea of sixteen year-olds. 

“Like what, Dean? What ‘fucking up’ do you do at sixteen?” Cas humored his friend.

“Like getting laid, getting drunk, getting high, going for joyrides in the middle of the night, making out on the roof of your car in a cornfield, you know, that kind of stuff.” Dean leaned his head on the back of the couch and smiled.

“Where were you when I needed to hear this?” Cas sounded all of the sudden so solemn and serious that it gave Dean mood whiplash.

“Dude I was like, eight or nine,” Dean said, going for the first answer he could think of as his head popped up from the back of the couch.

“Oh,” Cas groaned and shook his head, now cradled in his hands, “You make me feel so _old_.” 

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll have to put you in a home soon with all of the other ancient, decrepit twenty-seven year old football players.” Dean leaned over to poke Cas in the ribs.

“Shut up, Dean!” Cas laughed, slightly muffled from his his hands covering his face.

“Your obituary - OW, those are my kidneys!” Dean shouted as Castiel had attempted to tickle Dean, “ - will read, ‘Castiel Novak, asshole cornerback, died today of old age at twenty-seven’.” 

“Dean, _you’re_ the asshole.” Cas lunged for Dean on the couch, but Dean dodged the strike, standing up and backing away from Cas and toward the kitchen.

“He was at his physical peak, but the terrible old person disease still got ‘im and he kicked the bucket shortly after saying ‘What’s with kids today?’” Dean did his best version of an old-person Castiel voice and pretended to shake an imaginary cane. 

“ _Dean_ ,” Cas still advanced on Dean with fierce look in his eyes, though his manic grin somewhat tempered the effect he was going for. 

“Unfortunately,” Dean continued, faking solemnity, “he also died never having known the sensual caress of another human being. He only had his right hand to mourn him.” Dean had put the whole couch between them, the cushions on his side, to protect him from Cas. He didn’t expect, however, for Cas to say, “Okay, that’s it,” and use his twenty-plus years of football experience to practically launch himself over the back of the couch. They landed half on the floor and half on the couch, and it was obvious that Cas had never been in playful wrestling match in his life, using all elbows and knees in his attacks. Dean managed to outmaneuver Cas a few times, being more flexible and having more upper body strength, but any time Cas got his legs under him, or wrapped around any part of Dean’s body really, Dean was toast. Dean _did_ have superior tickling skills, which he used liberally whenever Cas had the upper hand.

“Hey, Cas, stop for a minute.” Dean wheezed. In the melee, they had ended on the floor with Cas sitting on Dean’s chest, strong thighs gripping the sides of Dean’s ribs. Cas had been holding on to Dean’s wrists to fend off further tickle attacks, and he let them go warily when Dean called for a cessation of combat.

“What is it Dean?” Cas squinted down at Dean, who bit his lip looking worried. Whatever buzz he had had from the scotch was already gone, and Dean suddenly longed for the fortifying feeling of alcohol in his veins.

“I was wondering, I mean, uh, why,” Dean cleared his throat and Cas eased a little weight off Dean’s chest. “Why did you come to my practice back in July?” Cas tended to play his emotions close to the chest, making Dean worry and doubt until unleashing bombs like “I trust you” on Dean when he least expected them. 

“Oh, that?” Cas considered Dean’s question, still perched on Dean’s chest, “I wanted to do something for myself for once, do something spontaneous -- “

“Wait, wait,” Dean stopped him. “Spontaneous for you is calling ahead to find out where and when we practice and asking permission to come?” Dean sat up (as much as possible with a 200 lb cornerback on his chest) and propped his elbows up behind him. Cas huffed and rolled his eyes, crossing his arms petulantly. 

“Any sort of deviation from ‘The Plan’ was not tolerated, and with my mother gone, and me being on my own, I wanted to do something just because I wanted to do it, not because it was on the schedule.”

“I mean, I get that.” Dean looked away and focused on a stain on the rug, “But why me? You said I stood out, but I still don’t know why.” Cas’ face softened and he swung his leg over Dean’s chest to allow Dean to fully sit up next to him. Cas turned his whole body toward Dean, but Dean still couldn’t look at Cas.

“There’s just something about you, Dean, that I recognized from the first moment I saw you. And every day I learn something new about you that reaffirms my initial intuition.” Cas gently turned Dean’s head to face him, and Dean chewed on his bottom lip, avoiding eye contact.

“Look at me, Dean.” Dean finally met Cas’ eyes and saw the all the honesty and sincerity he had already associated with Castiel, but he also caught a glimpse of affection, of yearning that he had been missing. Dean felt a flush from the tips of ears down to his collar. Could he finally let himself have _this_? Have _Cas_? With Cas’ hand still on his face, he only had to lean in --

“Oh shit!” Dean’s phone buzzed loudly on the coffee table and Cas and Dean sprung apart. Dean groaned and fell back on the carpet, fumbling with his alarm on his phone. He’d set to the alarm to tell him ‘If you don’t leave now, you won’t make it back to Lawrence with enough time to get your homework done without cutting into your sleep,’ and he was seriously regretting it. 

“I’ve gotta go, man,” Dean grumbled, hand thrown over his eyes, “I have to get up early tomorrow.”

“Are you going to be okay to drive?” Cas leaned over Dean, pulling Dean’s hand from his face and peering at him like he could visually tell Dean’s blood alcohol level.

“Yeah, I’m all sobered up,” Dean stood up and held out a hand to pull up Castiel. Cas grabbed him by the forearm, their positions flipped from the first time they met. Dean pulled him up a little harder than he intended, though, and Cas’ forward momentum caused him to crash into Dean. Dean caught Cas, arms wrapping around the older man’s waist, and Cas laughed into Dean’s neck. If Dean didn’t have to leave, he would have loved to have stayed just like this, the soft warmth of Cas tucked against him. 

It frightened Dean how quickly his manageable crush was turning into something closer to falling. So he did what he had to do: he gently pushed Cas away from him and patted him on the shoulder.

“You okay, Cas?” Dean asked gruffy and looked anywhere but Castiel. Cas nodded, frowning. 

“Like I said, I’ve gotta get get out of here, so, uh …” Dean rubbed the back of his neck, trailing off as they walked to the front door.

"Text me when you get home?" Castiel asked and held the door open for Dean. 

"Yeah,” Dean breathed, catching a significant and indecipherable glance from Castiel, “See ya Cas."

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter where the E rating starts to come into play. Also, there's lots of football jargon in this chapter but most of it has hover text to explain. For everything else (or if you need a refresher), check out the companion to this work, [Football for Fandom](http://s-cornelius.tumblr.com/post/89425108665/football-for-fandom-part-i-football-terms).

Leading up to the beginning of the college football season, Dean’s mind was a jumbled and distracted mess. When he had time to tear himself from all of his reading and assignments for class, he couldn’t do much more than stress out about cheering at the KU season opener. And in those small pockets of time when he could let his mind wander to something other than school and cheerleading, he thought almost exclusively about Cas. Cas took over every spare thought, creeping in from the corners of Dean’s consciousness and taking over all higher brain functions at the worst possible times. 

In a quiet moment during his workout, Dean thought about how close he had gotten to _kissing_ Cas. If he hadn’t chickened out, he would have certainly learned the feeling of Cas’ plush lips against his own, and maybe even Cas’ fingers in his hair. When he closed his eyes, he could almost feel Cas’ stubble scraping a pleasant burn against his lips and his jaw and rubbing sensuously against his chin. He was so distracted that Benny had to shut off the treadmill with Dean still on it so they didn’t miss breakfast. 

In his English class, Dean had a hard time focusing on his professor’s discussion the rhythmic effect of the spondee. He tuned out the lecture, thinking of Cas’ strong legs gripping his ribs when they wrestled and the coiled strength of Cas’ muscles under his hands. He imagined running his hands over Cas’ tattoos -- first exploring the writing on Cas’ ribs (in his fantasy, a ticklish Cas laughed as Dean traced the strange lettering), and then moving on to catalogue each and every one of the endless feathers on Cas’ back. One of his classmates had to shake him when class ended.

While riding his bicycle back to his dorm after class, Dean’s mind supplied him the image of Castiel’s cock, flushed and erect in Dean’s hand or in Dean’s mouth. He couldn’t help but imagine its shape and size, the sounds he could draw out of Cas, and and he had been so distracted that he nearly took out a bunch of freshman sitting on the lawn. 

Dean tried to put Cas (really, his mind-blowing, attention-demanding attraction to Cas) out of his mind, but the more he pushed it down, the more it seemed to pop up at the worst times. Dean had never struggled so much with attraction to a man before. He had been more or less dealing with this _thing_ he had with men since puberty, but he had never been this close to actually _being_ with a man. At least, in a sexual way. 

And it terrified Dean.

Dean’s first brush with his attraction to men had come when he was fifteen and away at cheer camp, during one of those endless nights of too many teenagers in too close of quarters in a University of Oklahoma dormitory. Someone had decided they should play truth or dare (or maybe spin the bottle, Dean couldn’t remember), and Dean had ended up locked in a closet with a kid named Aaron from Pennsylvania. Aaron was a the same age as Dean, but unlike Dean, he was one of those kids who was already able to grow a full beard. Dean would always remember the strange, and not unpleasant, sensation of a patchy beard against his cheeks and lips, and the arousing surprise of finding rough where he was used to smooth. He also remembered loving the surety of Aaron’s tongue as it slid against his own, so different from the shy caution of the girls he’d kissed in the past year or so. And he would never be able to forget the foreign press of Aaron’s erection against his own when their hips came together. For the briefest of moments, Dean had let himself enjoy it. There was something exhilarating in the tangible proof that Aaron liked the kiss as much as Dean did as they fumbled together in the closet. 

When Aaron’s hand reached down to cup Dean, he quickly came to his senses. It was too much too fast, and Dean’s brain finally caught up with his body and roughly pushed Aaron away. He banged on the closet door until the other kids let him out before running away to cry out his confusion in the stairwell.  

A lot had happened to Dean since then, and he had come to terms with the fact that he’s allowed to find men attractive -- in his head. After all, his attraction to men didn’t necessarily mean he _wanted_ men the way he wanted women. When he pictured himself in the future, he was always married to a beautiful woman, living in a nice house with a few kids. She would be strong and tough, just like his mom, but maybe with long, dark hair cascading down her back. When Dean shut his eyes, he could easily see her face laughing and smiling at Dean on their wedding day, at their children’s births, growing old together...

But sometimes when he wanted to get off, women didn’t always do it for him. He’d lock the door and turn off his cellphone, and pull out his special (and very very secret) stash of porn or conjure up the image of Dr. Sexy blowing him instead of Jennifer Lopez.

Or, when he really felt inventive and adventurous, he’d picture blowing Dr. Sexy himself. Dean thought long and hard about how he’d go about it, drawing from every blow job he’d ever loved. He imagined that he would be cautious at first, testing the feel and weight of tip on his tongue. He would slowly take in the rest of the shaft, stroking with his hand what he couldn’t reach with his mouth. He tested out different scenarios in his mind: rolling the man’s balls in his hands or in his mouth, laying open-mouthed kisses along the shaft, tonguing and teasing the slit, nibbling and gently tugging the man’s scrotum with his teeth, feeling the man’s come on his tongue and on his lips, or, on special occasions only, on his cheeks. 

But everything with Cas muddied up his mind and confused him. Obviously, Castiel was one of the hottest men he had ever seen, and Dean was only slightly ashamed that he had imagined Cas while mastubating. It would’ve been so much easier on Dean, though, if Cas were just a pretty face, but Cas was just so much _more_. He was Dean’s _friend_ \-- his _best_ friend -- and he actually wanted to talk to Cas and keep him around, and Dean had no idea what to do with that feeling. Dean did want to have sex with Cas, but he could also see himself developing real romantic feelings. He could almost close his eyes and see Cas’ face where he had seen the nameless woman’s before -- laughing and smiling in a custom fitted tux, cooing at a gurgling baby who had Dean’s eyes, watching Cas’ hair start to streak with grey...

By Saturday, Dean couldn’t take it anymore, not after a week like that. He woke up too early and paced around his dorm room for half an hour before grabbing the keys to his car and taking off. He had been so busy with school and practice that he hadn’t taken the Impala out for a real aimless drive in a while, one where he opened her up out on the long stretches of flat Kansas highway. Dean shot out of his dorm’s parking lot and raced past the famous Kansas farmland, letting his mind focus only on the rumble of the engine, the feeling of asphalt under the tires, and the bone-rattling sounds of Metallica on the stereo. He rolled down the windows and let the wind whip at his hair and face, stealing every errant and unwanted thought from his mind. After an hour of driving, he turned the Impala back toward Lawrence and put himself on the road to Bobby’s house. 

As Dean pulled into the old junkyard that served as Bobby’s home and business, he felt the remaining tension leave him. Though Bobby’s would never be home the way his parents’ house had been, it was the only home he had left. Even before he and Sam had moved in for good, Bobby’s was a place for big Thanksgiving dinners, impossibly large Christmas trees, and long, wonder-filled summer afternoons. Now Bobby’s was where Sam got to be a normal kid, going to school without a care in the world and playing varsity basketball. And Bobby’s was where Dean made a habit of watching the Angels’ games since starting college two years prior, and with his new schedule of actually _being_ at nearly half of the Angels’ games, they’d added watching away Jayhawks games when they were televised. 

Even with all the great memories there, Dean still wondered if the old scrapyard wouldn’t always have a little sadness to it. He had spent the last few months before college at Bobby’s as an angry and confused teenager, forced to grow up too fast and deal with some shit way too soon.

Dean pushed the bad memories out of his mind as walked into the house, throwing his keys into their usual spot by the door and kicking off his boots in the entryway. He found Bobby on the couch with a beer, already engrossed in the Jayhawks at Rice game. He walked to the living room, via the kitchen to pick up a beer for himself, and plopped down next to Bobby on the threadbare couch that was probably older than Dean was. Bobby turned toward Dean, as Dean not too gently set his socked feet on Bobby’s ancient coffee table, and took the beer from Dean’s hands.

“Hey!” Dean reached for the beer, but Bobby put it down on the far end of the table.

“Thanks for the refill, boy,” Bobby said mock sincerely, “And get your feet offa my table.”

Dean crossed his arms and grumbled as he put his feet on the floor.

“Would’ve thought you’d’ve had practice today. Big day tomorrow,” Bobby said pointedly and Dean felt a new wave of nerves surge in his belly at the mention of the Angels’ season opener. 

Dean pointed to the TV, which currently showed a couple of the newer female members of his squad. “Nearly everyone’s at Rice anyway. Where’s Sam?”

“Ah, he’s out with some _girl_.” Bobby gave Dean a significant look. Sam had only taken out one or two girls since starting high school, saying he was more focused on his schoolwork and basketball or some shit like that. 

“Oh? Is it serious?” Dean teased, “Are they picking out china patterns and floral arrangements?” Dean smirked at his own joke and got up to get himself a soda from the kitchen. 

“Who are you to judge? You gotta girl?” 

“Nah. Wouldn’t have time for one if I had one,” Dean hedged, picking the tab of the can he pilfered from the fridge and walked back into the living room. 

“And how’s the whole Angels cheerleader things going?” 

“Well, I won’t know until tomorrow.” Dean shrugged and took a swig from the can.

“You met any of the players?” Bobby raised his eyebrow, angling for something. It set Dean’s nerves on edge, like somehow Bobby had figured it all out -- that he and Cas were friends, that he had a monster crush on Cas, that he had just been thinking about having sex with Cas before coming over.

Dean cleared his throat, “We don’t really have practices at the same time. Just the one really. And the Angels, uh, the football players aren’t really --” Dean rubbed the back of his neck, trailing off.

“Christ on a cracker! Goddamned refs don't know their ass from their ankles!" Bobby shouted at the TV and Dean breathed a sigh of relief at being cut off. He imagined it being hard to talk about Cas to Bobby and Sam _before_ getting into a tension-laden wrestling match on Cas’ rug, but now it was almost impossible for Dean to even make the words come up. How was he going to tell Bobby that he not only was friends with one of Bobby’s favorite players, but that he had also almost kissed said favorite player in favorite player’s enormous home? And still thought about kissing him. Almost constantly.

“Yeah, terrible fuckin’ call,” Dean agreed, hoping his discomfort didn’t seep into his words. Fortunately, Sam burst into the house, all boundless teenage energy, and his arrival saved Dean from any more talk of Angels players or wanting to throw them on the floor and fuck them senseless.

“Dean!” Sam dropped his backpack in the entry and ran into the living room. He plopped on the couch between Dean and Bobby, which forced Dean to half sit on the armrest, because Bobby sure as hell wasn’t moving.

“Sammy,” Dean ruffled Sam’s hair, smiling down at his younger brother, and Sam frowned dramatically. It had been too long since they had seen each other, and it’d only been a few weeks.

“Ew, Dean, stop making that stupid face at me!” 

“What, this one?” Dean started making kissy faces at Sam and Sam shoved him off the couch.

“Gross Dean!” 

Dean chuckled from the floor. “So I hear you have a giiiiiirlfriend,” he teased.  

“Shut up, Dean!” Sam shouted as he pounced on Dean, still sprawled across the floor. Dean laughed as Sam tried to get Dean in some kind of hold, but Dean’s flexibility, combined with a little brute force, worked wonders against Sam’s more analytical approach. Though Sam’s jabbing with his bony ass knees and elbows proved to be an effective tactic. 

As Dean fended off Sam’s attacks, he wondered how he had gotten involved in two wrestling matches in one week. Wrestling his brother and wrestling Cas, however, were two completely different experiences. Wrestling with Cas was about playful touch and pushing each other and teaching Cas how to be physically intimate with another person. 

Wrestling with Sam was about beating the crap out of each other. 

Even as he took another blow from Sam’s elbow to the ribs that he _knew_ would bruise, he felt lighter than he had all week. All of his anxiety over Cas and cheering at a pro game and the day-to-day school stuff disappeared when he sat on Sam’s spine, twisting his lanky arms behind his back. It didn’t take long for Bobby to put a stop to it, though.

“Alright! Enough you two. Either stop or take it outside. Some of us are trying to watch the game here!” he growled over the grunts and shouts coming from Sam and Dean. Even with new bruises and Bobby yelling at him, Dean couldn’t imagine a better day spent at home. 

\---

Finally, the day of the Angels’ season opener against the Jacksonville Jaguars arrived, and Dean had never felt so simultaneously out of place and in his element before in his life. He had changed into the Angels collegiate cheer squad uniform without even thinking about it; the dark blue pants and a blue and gold top with ‘ANGELS’ embroidered across the chest seemed to appear on his body like magic between coherent thoughts. Lisa (or was it Cassie? he had forgotten in his pre-game panic) had even managed to get glitter in his hair in one of his more dumbfounded moments, and he just hoped the TV cameras wouldn’t pick it up. If Sam noticed the fucking glitter in his hair, Dean’d never hear the end of it.

Even though cheering on a football field was second nature to Dean, cheering in the Angels’ stadium, in front of the sold-out crowd, being filmed by hundreds of TV cameras, made him jittery whenever he stopped long enough to think about it. Fortunately for Dean, he didn’t have much time to stop and think. When the Angels were on defense, the squad would go through some standard cheers, and he could focus on getting the words right and being in the correct spot. Then, during the timeouts, they would do their more elaborate formations and stunts in the end zones, and all of Dean’s brain power could be devoted to not dropping the girls he held above his head as they went through various poses, to throwing and catching flyers, or to an especially difficult tumbling pass. 

These were the moments he loved most about cheerleading: letting muscle memory take over and getting completely lost in the rush of adrenaline. When he cheered, he could forget that people who’d paid hundreds of dollars in tickets and parking and souvenirs and beer surrounded him. Instead, he could get wrapped up in pumping up the crowd, the feedback loop between him and them in that moment, and it (mostly) kept him from thinking about fucking up. 

Or thinking about the other potential distraction on the field, dressed in his white home jersey and sinfully tight pants. Dean cheered at the same time Cas played, so Dean couldn’t expend _too_ much energy thinking about Cas, though he did plenty of trying not to think about Cas and failing miserably. 

Dean let himself have small, interspersed moments when he could think of Castiel, reasoning that paying attention to the game was (sort of) part of his job. So when Cas broke up a forty yard [pass play](%20) on the Angels’ twenty yard line in the first quarter, he (and the other cheerleaders of course), turned around to watch and cheer. And when the Angels were running back to the locker room at half-time, the whole squad stood outside the tunnel shaking pom poms and slapping the hands of the players as they ran inside. It’s not like anyone would care if Dean positioned himself in the line to that he could give Cas a high-five, especially since Cas had just [intercepted a pass](%20) right before the [two-minute warning](%20) which had led to [a scoring drive](%20) by the Angels. And when they came back in the third quarter and a Jaguars offensive lineman crushed Cas during [a corner blitz](%20) (despite the fact that Cas had already [sacked the quarterback](%20) and never had the ball), it wouldn’t make any sense for Dean _not_ to yell at the [ref](%20) for not calling penalty. 

At the start of the fourth quarter, the Angels were up by twenty-one points and the Jaguars decided to squander their good field position after an especially bad [punt](%20) by the Angels’ kicker with a penalty-ridden [three-and-out](%20). The Angels then had an eight-minute, eighty-yard drive that ended in a touchdown. The game was already over with five minutes left since the Jaguars needed four touchdowns just to tie. 

The Angels ended the game in a [victory formation](%20), to the deafening roar of the stadium. It had been pretty much a rout from the beginning, but from what Dean had seen, it looked like it had been a good game. Especially for the sexy cornerback he couldn’t stop thinking about. 

Said sexy cornerback found Dean almost immediately after the game was over. Dean was walking through the tunnels under the stadium with the rest of the KU cheerleaders to the team bus, when he saw Cas making a beeline for him past the reporters and other players.

“Hello, Dean.” Cas took off his helmet, placing it in the crook of his left arm once he reached Dean.

“Hey, Cas, good game,” Dean patted Cas awkwardly on the back, “Nice interception.” 

Though Cas seemed probably oblivious to the gathering crowd around them, Dean’s skin crawled as he felt the strange and questioning looks being sent their way from the other Angels players and Dean’s teammates. Dean knew that they were just unaccustomed to a professional football player chatting with some random college cheerleader, but he couldn’t stop the panic rising in his chest. 

“Oh,” Cas continued like nothing was wrong at all, “I saw the angle of release was slightly higher than the quarterback intended, and therefore the trajectory of the ball was foreshortened. I only took advantage of the opportunity.” Cas shrugged. Dean momentarily forgot his panic at being seen with Cas as he grinned at the explanation that was so _Cas_. 

He heard a chuckle from a football player and Dean’s fight or flight instinct kicked back in, wiping the grin from his face. Dean remembered just how exposed they were, open to everyone’s judgement, as they stood in the middle of the tunnel. Hell, they had all probably figured out that Dean _liked_ Cas by now, and were talking about him behind his back, figuring out ways to torture him with that knowledge.

“Dean,” Cas waved his hand in front of Dean’s face. Dean must’ve zoned out for a minute.

"Uh, yeah Cas?" Dean asked, barely hearing himself over sound of his heart beating as extra adrenaline coursed through his veins. 

“Would you mind coming with me for a minute?” Cas gestured to an opening in the wall about ten feet from where they were standing.

“Uh, no problem,” Dean said and his heart started to return to a normal. “I just can’t be too long, ‘cause I’ve gotta get back to the bus.” Cas nodded and Dean waved at Benny, who had stopped when Dean stopped, to go on without him. 

Cas pulled Dean away from the prying eyes of the other players and the sports media and Dean’s teammates into a nook used for storing golf carts. Castiel peered around the wall separating them from large hallway, checking to make sure the coast was clear and they were hidden from general view. Even though Dean had just nearly had a panic attack, he still couldn’t stop himself from taking that time to appreciate Cas’ ass in his white home game pants, imagining Cas in _only_ those white home game pants. 

The coast clear, Cas whipped his head around to send a heated, purposeful look Dean’s way. Cas then closed the distance between them in a few quick strides and wrapped his right arm around Dean’s back. He pulled Dean’s body to press up against his own and placed a kiss on Dean’s slightly parted lips.

It was not at all what Dean expected. When he had imagined his and Cas’ first kiss, it had been a bruising kiss in a moment of fiery passion. Their mouths would crash together, maybe Castiel would be a little clumsy from lack of experience, but it would be all warring tongues and the clash of teeth and wandering hands. 

But this kiss was not that at all. It was all gentle and sweet, and relatively chaste. Cas’ mouth was mostly closed, but the touch of lip on lip alone had Dean’s toes curling.  By the time Dean came up for air, all lingering worries and anxieties about being seen with Cas had been pushed out of Dean’s mind. His knees felt like jelly, and if Cas hadn’t been holding him up, he would have undoubtedly fallen to the floor.

In short, Cas was good at kissing. 

“Dean?” Cas pulled back, looking for any kind of reaction from Dean. He dropped his arm from around Dean’s waist and gently set his helmet on the ground like any loud noise might spook Dean.

“Uh,” Dean blinked, still in a haze from the kiss. 

“Dean, are you okay?” Cas looked worried. “I’m sorry. I overreached.”

“Uh, no. Why? Why did you --” Dean trailed off, blinking dazedly.

“I assumed --,” Cas started, looking to ground, “Well, you seemed to indicate that you weren’t wholly averse to -- uh, that you had some sexual or romantic attraction to men, or at least me.”

“I’m not, uh, I do, I mean I am.” Dean said. Cas’ head shot up to see Dean grinning, and a smile to match Dean’s broke out on Cas’ face.

“And,” Cas added softly, “I wanted to kiss you and you looked like you wanted to be kissed.”

“I did.” Dean’s smile grew with his confidence. He grabbed a handful of Cas’ jersey near his waist and pulled Cas back for another kiss. Leaning up to kiss anyone was a new and strange sensation for Dean, but Dean didn’t mind the extra height that Cas’ cleats gave him. Cas’ hands were warm and sure where they came around to rest between Dean’s shoulder blades and his stubble scratched against Dean’s, igniting a repressed fuse low in his belly. This kiss was deeper than the first, open mouthed and hot, but similarly brief.

“You know, this is [holding](%20),” Cas teased breathlessly when they broke apart, pointing to where Dean had grabbed his jersey, “Five yard penalty, automatic first down.”

“I don’t see any refs, so I think I’m good.” Dean could feel the solid muscles of Castiel’s abdomen under his knuckles where they still held Cas’ jersey. “And I like holding you.” Dean grinned up at Cas, and snaked his hands around Cas’ waist to make a point.

“Dean, will you go to the the Natural History Museum with me on Tuesday?” Cas asked in the loose hold of Dean’s arms. A few months ago, Dean would have balked at the abrupt change in conversation, but now, he took it in stride.

“You just want to see the dinosaur bones.” He teased, gently squeezing Cas’ torso. 

“They aren’t real bones, Dean,” Cas rolled his eyes dramatically and Dean thought that maybe this thing between them, now with added kissing, could work.

\---

Cas showed up Tuesday morning at nine AM sharp outside McCollum Hall. He texted Dean to let him in and Dean blearily threw on the nearest pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. Even though Cas had been a semi-permanent fixture of Dean’s summer dorm life, Dean’d felt anxious about bringing his professional football player friend up to his dorm room since the semester had started. He never knew when the day would come that someone would recognize Cas, despite his goofy trenchcoat get up. And now Dean was on even higher alert with Cas being … well, Dean didn’t know what to call Cas. Was Cas his boyfriend? his potential lover? his gentleman caller? 

Cas followed Dean from the parking lot into the lobby and Dean’s fingers ached to grab Cas’ hand or lead Cas around with his hand in Cas’ back pocket -- he had always liked when girls he’d dated did that. But Cas seemed content to walk alone and take the elevator as if nothing had changed, like he hadn’t been the one to grab Dean after the game and initiate kissing.

With Cas so seemingly unaffected, Dean started to think that Sunday might have been a dream. As they rode up the elevator in silence, Dean surreptitiously glanced at Cas, trying to find a hint in the man’s expression or demeanor that would indicate that Dean hadn’t imagined the whole kissing thing. Instead, Cas looked like he always looked, a little stiff but not uninviting, slightly rumpled but intense. 

When they stepped out of the elevator, Cas squeezed Dean’s hand as he slipped by, and Dean’s brain briefly short circuited. Dean almost got stuck riding the elevator back down to the lobby. Cas looked on bemusedly as Dean scrambled to get out past the slowly closing doors and catch up with Cas as they walked to Dean’s room. 

Fortunately for Dean, most of his hall was either in class or asleep, so they didn’t pass anyone on their way to Dean’s room. Unfortunately for Dean, the empty hallway meant Cas thought it was a good idea to press his whole body against Dean’s back as Dean fumbled with unlocking his door. 

“Cas, come on,” Dean whined as he used the wrong key for the third time. Despite making Dean forget how keys worked, he now had confirmation that the kissing really had happened as Cas’ hands rested lightly on Dean’s hips, one tantalizingly close to being more of an ass grope. Dean finally got the door open and they toppled into Dean’s room, Cas’ hands still gripping Dean’s hips. Cas used his honed reflexes and iron grip on Dean to spin them around and press Dean back against the door. 

Now this was the kiss Dean had expected the first time around. Cas kissed like a man on a mission or a parched man and Dean was water or -- Dean would come up with a better metaphor when Cas’ tongue was back in his own mouth. Or when Cas’ hand wasn’t sneaking up under Dean’s T-shirt to press hotly against the skin of Dean’s back. Or when Cas wasn’t sucking Dean’s bottom lip between his teeth before moving to kiss along Dean’s jaw. 

“Cas,” Dean croaked as Cas lightly bit Dean’s ear lobe, “Wait Cas, stop for a second.” Dean gently pushed Cas away, giving Dean some much needed space to get his brain working again. 

“I want to get back to the kissing,” Dean said at Castiel’s puzzled expression, “but first we gotta, uh, talk. Talk about us.” Castiel frowned, obviously upset that the kissing had stopped, but nodded in understanding. He sat down on Dean’s futon couch and patted the space next to him where Dean plopped down ungracefully.

“Uh, Cas, before we go any further,” Dean started hesitantly. He looked down at the space between them. “I’ve never done this -” he gestured between Cas and himself - “with a man before. I mean, I kissed a guy a long time ago, but this is different.”

Dean looked up at Castiel, begging Cas with his eyes to understand what Dean meant. This thing between them, or even pursuing a relationship of any kind with another dude, still terrified Dean. It was one thing to fantasize about dick in the safety of his own head; it was another thing entirely to be in a position where he could easily get it. 

“So,” Dean continued, “I don’t know how to do this.”

Cas gave Dean one of his patented confused looks. “I’m not sure what you mean, Dean. When I kissed you, I thought we would keep doing what we’ve always been doing.” When Dean gave Cas a confused look of his own, Cas continued, “Watching TV, eating meals together, talking to one another, and so on. We’d just add dating and kissing and more physical contact to that. And eventually sex, but I don’t want to push you, Dean; I respect you.” 

Dean would think it was a line coming from anyone else but Cas was wholly serious. Plus from what he knew about Cas, he doubted the man had any lines. Dean wondered if maybe Cas could see the people in Dean’s past who hadn’t respected Dean, who had wanted Dean for his pretty face and his nice body and left him alone in the morning. Or maybe Cas remembered their run-in with the bikers and how they had treated Dean. Either way, Dean’s heart gave a flutter at Cas’ words and the seriousness of his tone. He felt both pinned down by the intensity of Cas’ stare, but also buoyed by the joy of having someone care for him so much.

“No, no, your plan sounds good.” Dean laughed, “But we don’t have to wait so long for sex; that is the fun part after all.” Dean gave Cas an easy, flirtatious smile, but his stomach flipped as he thought about finally getting a chance to touch all of Cas.

“I thought the fun part was being with you,” Cas looked legitimately confused and Dean felt like he was going to burst. Dean smiled broadly and pulled Cas into a rib-crushing hug, tucking his head under Cas’ chin. Cas wrapped his arms around Dean and Dean let himself be held for a few minutes, reveling in the closeness of Cas and the soft in and out of his breathing.

“But I’m not really sure how to tell people,” Dean admitted quietly. Not being able to see Cas made it easier to say aloud. “Or if I even want people to know or even if I think it’s any of their goddamn business.”

Dean moved back to his own side of the couch, taking Cas’ hand and lacing their fingers together, not taking his eyes of their joined hands. 

“And what if the press finds out?” Dean continued, “I don’t want to be the center of a fucking media circus.” 

“I’m sure my publicist can handle that,” Castiel offered, rubbing his thumb against Dean’s knuckles. Dean snorted; what good would a publicist be after the fact? When the truth about Dean and Dean’s inappropriate sexual desires were already out in the world? Just the thought of people _knowing_ about them, _knowing_ about what Dean wanted from Castiel, nearly made Dean panic again. 

“Dean,” Cas said firmly, “I don’t want you to think me flippant on these matters, but I was being honest when I said that I didn’t expect much to change from before there was kissing involved. I don’t want you for your body. I want your mind and your heart. And I want you to be comfortable.” 

Cas’ hand traveled up Dean’s arm to drag his fingers through the short hairs at Dean’s nape. Dean sighed, “I hadn’t even told Bobby and Sam that we were friends, Cas, how do I tell them that we’re --” Dean paused, searching for the right word to describe what they were.

“Boyfriends?”

Despite Dean’s misgivings and anxiety, he felt warm all over. “Yeah, boyfriends,” he said languidly. Even though the haze of abject terror, Dean wanted to be with Cas more than anything. Looking into Cas’ eyes, he felt he could tell Sam and Bobby, and probably Charlie and Benny too, and it would be okay. He and Cas would take care of each other, and the rest would fall in place.

“Maybe it would be easier if I just surprised them with you,” Dean said after a few considering moment and Cas shot him a confused look, “Bobby’d shit a brick. Ooh, I like this idea, though you better bring a sharpie for all the things he’ll shove in your face to sign.”

“We can do whatever you need to do,” Cas sighed and moved his fingers more purposefully through Dean’s hair, gently massaging his scalp. Dean closed his eyes and practically purred under the attention.

“What about you? You gonna tell your mom?” Dean cracked an eye open to look at Castiel, but at the mention of his mother, he stiffened and pulled his hands back to rest in his lap.

“I don’t really think it’s any of her business.”

“Oh, sorry, man, I didn’t mean to --”

“No, Dean, I’m sorry. Things have not been improving between us and it’s stressful. I just --” Cas sighed deeply, “I just want to have something that is all my own for once that she has no part of. And I’m not saying that I own you, or that you are in any way not autonomous --” Dean held up a hand to stop him.

“I understand, Cas,” Dean said solemnly before grinning and waggling his eyebrows suggestively, “How about we get back to the kissing part of things for a bit, then I can take a shower and we can go see your dinosaur bones?”

“They aren’t real bones, Dean, we’ve been over this,” Cas rolled his eyes in the most put-upon manner Dean had seen yet. 

“Yeah, yeah, you can tell me all about it when we get there,” Dean punctuated his sentence by leaning over and gently kissing Castiel. He didn’t think he’d ever stop feeling the joy of anticipation as his lips drew nearer to Cas’ or the burst of pleasure when they met. Dean would never stop finding the rush of arousal that came when Cas deepened the kiss, the feeling of Cas’ tongue in Dean’s mouth, new and exciting. And when Cas’ strong, broad hands kept Dean exactly where Cas wanted him with their strength and grace, Dean never wanted to leave their sure hold.

Dean sighed and reluctantly pulled away after a few minutes to grab a change of clothes, a towel and his shower caddy.

“Don’t break anything while I’m gone.” Dean took it back; this was the most put-upon Cas yet.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder: information about real football players mentioned in this fic can be found at [Football for Fandom](http://s-cornelius.tumblr.com/post/89428961550/football-for-fandom-part-iii-famous-people-in)

Dean was surprised by how little his life had changed with kissing Cas. Before Cas, he just _knew_ a pit would up beneath and swallow him whole if he ever got what he wanted. Instead, he found that after kissing Cas, the ground was perfectly stable under his feet, and life seemed to carry on as it always had. He still had classes and homework and cheer practices. He still called Bobby and Sam every few days to catch up with Bobby’s salvage and mechanic business and Sam’s hectic teenager life. He still played Dungeons and Dragons with Charlie on Thursday evenings and ate breakfast and lunch with Benny most days of the week. And he still got weird phone calls at odd hours and texts from Cas about mushroom biology or how to determine the mass of a galaxy based on how fast the stars in it are moving. 

But Dean _felt_ different. Dean wasn’t sure if anyone else had noticed, but Benny had immediately caught on to the change in Dean.

“Where’d you disappear to with that football player of yours after the game?” Benny had asked nonchalantly the following Monday morning. 

“Nowhere,” Dean said too quickly, ears burning. “And he’s not _my_ football player,” Dean added pointedly.

“Oh, I’m sure he isn’t.” Benny rolled his eyes, and Dean sighed deeply. “I know you’ve been pinin’ over the guy for a while now, and I know he’s not the first man you’ve been interested in --” 

“Shh! Someone’s gonna hear you!” Dean hissed at Benny. His eyes darted around the cafeteria, looking for eavesdroppers. They were sitting across from each other in a relatively secluded section of the cafeteria, but Dean could still feel eyes on the back of his neck. 

Benny continued, unphased, “I just hope you know what you’re doin’ messin’ around with a guy like that.”

“There wasn’t --, we’re not messing --,” Dean leaned in and gestured for Benny to do the same. Dean lowered his voice and said, “He’s different. I, uh, I care about him.”

Benny gave Dean a look like he wasn’t sure what to make of that information. “And anyway,” Dean scoffed, “ _He’s_ the one who kissed _me_.”

Benny’s eyebrows shot straight up and Dean pleaded for him not to tell anyone.

“Sure thing, brother, just make sure he’s takin’ care of you,” Benny said seriously, “Don’t want him breakin’ your heart.”

“Thanks, Benny,” Dean chewed his lip thoughtfully. Benny seemed to be mollified for the time being, though it turned out to be a more temporary ceasefire than a true armistice. Despite Dean’s faith in Cas, Benny still hadn’t quite warmed up to the guy. Benny kept a wary eye on Dean for the rest of the week, checking in during Dean and Cas’ Tuesday morning trip to the on-campus Natural History Museum, giving Dean meaningful looks whenever Dean got a new text from Cas, suggesting that he could set Dean up with another nice guy ...

And when Sunday rolled around, Dean found yet another cautionary text from Benny as he left the dorms to watch the Angels game with Bobby. Dean knew Benny was just looking out for him, especially after Dean’s parade of terrible sexual decisions their freshman year. Dean always mentally cringed at the memory of some of his truly terrible one-night stands that Benny, as one of his roommates, had to witness. Still, the mother hen schtick was starting to wear thin.  

Dean opened the new text with a sigh. It simply read:

_Be careful with that Angel, Dean._

Dean rubbed his temples and shot off a quick reply before getting into his Baby to drive to Bobby’s. He closed Benny’s texts with roll of his eyes, starting the car but not putting it into drive. He instead clicked on the button to listen to the voicemail Cas had left him the day before (for the millionth time, his brain helpfully added).

“ _I’m in Dallas_ ,” Cas started without any preamble. Cas thought that greetings were pointless in a world where caller ID exists. He continued,“ _Well, Arlington, since that’s where the stadium is. Why do they call them the Dallas Cowboys if they play in Arlington? And before Arlington, they technically played in Irving._ ” Cas paused and Dean imagined Cas had looked out the window. “ _I was surprised by the large swaths of undeveloped land between the airport and the stadium. I saw longhorn cattle, Dean. In the city. They keep cows in the city. I don’t remember seeing cows grazing in the city when I lived in Texas, but then again, I didn’t really pay attention to that sort of thing when I was a teenager._ ”

Dean chuckled at Cas’ tangent about cows; he had a feeling that Cas would show him a dozen blurry cow pictures taken on the bus when Cas got home. 

“ _I miss you Dean_ ,” Cas continued softly, “ _I hope you had a good time at your game and I’ll see you next week._ ”

As the message ended, Dean smiled goofily, glad he was alone in his car and no one could see how sappy Cas made him feel. Dean couldn’t remember the last time he so happy just to get a stupid voicemail from someone. 

He wiped off his grin, put his car into drive and pulled out of the dorm parking lot with just enough time to make it to the salvage yard by 2:45, well ahead of the kickoff at 3:30. Preparation for watching the Angels game was a lot more than just turning on the TV at Bobby’s. 

The only rule of watching an Angels game with Bobby was absolutely no moving. Bathroom breaks were the only exception, and then _only_ during commercials. Gathering food also had to be done in advance, and Dean had mastered the art of putting out just enough food for the entire duration of the game. Walking between Bobby and the TV was a surefire way to get kicked out of the house, so the proper seating arrangement also required a little shuffling to get everyone comfortable and settled. 

Sam, being the little shit he was, had already called dibs on the recliner when Dean arrived, leaving Dean and Bobby to share the couch. Despite not really caring about the game or football in general, Sam settled into his spot with his soda and one of the Hunger Games books while Dean and Bobby gathered snacks from the kitchen. 

“You’re really just going to sit there?” Dean asked as he set down his own soda on a coaster on the coffee table. Sam just smiled and batted his lashes back at Dean. Dean felt the only acceptable response was shooting him the bird, and Bobby cuffed him over the head for that one.

“Don’t be such a dick to your brother,” Bobby scolded Dean.

“But he --” Dean started.

“Don’t care. Stop standin’ around lookin’ pretty and help me get the damn food to the living room,” Bobby called. Dean grumbled as he grabbed the plates of potato skins, chips and salsa, and pigs in a blanket and set up the smorgasbord on the coffee table.

The final part of their pre-game preparations, only to be done in the last minutes before the game started, was putting on their gear. Bobby had switched out his old trucker cap for the new Angels baseball hat Dean had bought him last Christmas, while Dean had opted for pulling an old Angels jersey over his black t-shirt. Sam wore his usual clothes, because, of course, he was rooting for the Cowboys and nothing Bobby or Dean said could change his mind. 

As the broadcast showed the two teams running out on the field, Dean’s rebel stomach flipped when he spotted Cas in his Angels away uniform -- dark blue jerseys and gold pants with dark blue stripes down the sides. Dean’s equally traitorous mind jumped to wondering if the blue of Cas’ jersey brought out the blue of Cas’ eyes. Dean dropped his head in his hands and groaned audibly at the seriously soap opera nature of his thoughts and Bobby and Sam turned to give him concerned looks.

“Game ain’t even started yet. Save your grousing for when we need it, boy,” Bobby said, eyeing Dean warily. Dean waved them off and forced his mind back to the game at hand.

When Dean looked up at the TV, the Angels had won [the coin toss](%20), and were kicking off to the Cowboys to start the game. It was a good kickoff, pinning the Cowboys back on their own ten-yard line, and Bobby gave a celebratory whoop.

Throughout the first quarter, Dean and Bobby did their usual football commentary and coaching from the couch while Sam rolled his eyes and picked up his book to continue reading.

“Angels looked good last week against the Jaguars. Too bad we’re in the same [division](%20) as the Broncos,” Bobby pointed out during a commercial break.

“Yeah, Peyton Manning was looking good in the pre-season from what I heard. If we do well enough, we could make it in as a [wildcard](%20) though,” Dean added. The first quarter ended with the Cowboys up seven to nil, and the broadcast panned to Cowboys cheerleaders as they mentioned their sponsors. 

“Oh, Dean,” Sam said, butting in to the football talk when he saw the cheerleaders, “We saw you last week on TV. You and the other guys were doing that thing where the girl flips back and you throw her up and then hold her up with only one hand and she puts out her arms.” Sam gesticulated broadly, trying to capture the stunt with just his arms. “The commentators were impressed.”  
  
“Yeah, it’s called at BHS Full-up Cupie. We just nailed that skill two weeks ago.” Dean looked smug. He’s a little smaller than the other guys on the squad, which sometimes meant he couldn’t just force his way through things. Picking up a skill often required fewer repetitions for Benny and Victor, who were much bulkier than Dean. Dean had convinced them to try out for cheerleading in the first place when the three of them had been roommates as freshmen. Benny and Victor had been looking for athletic activity after not making a college football team, and now, they were some of the best bases Dean had ever seen.

So yeah, Dean was rightfully proud of himself.

“BHS?” Sam asked, cutting into Dean’s moment of pride.

“Back handspring,” Bobby provided quickly, to Dean’s quiet astonishment, “Now quit your yammerin’ and watch the game.” The broadcast had come back from the commercial break to start the second quarter, and Bobby didn’t put up with any excess non-football chatter when the Angels played. 

The Angels started the quarter by quickly scoring a touchdown to tie up the game. When the Cowboys regained possession, the Angels [held them to a field goal](%20) before the end of the half, mostly thanks to Cas breaking up three pass plays on the drive. Toward the end of the second quarter, Bobby broke his own football-watching rules and made Dean start up the grill in the back so that during halftime Dean could cook burgers and brats. 

The Angels had the ball back at the beginning of the second half and managed to score a touchdown and a field goal, making the score 17 - 10 and significantly raising the spirits of Dean and Bobby. Sam had stopped even pretending to care by the end of halftime, and was completely engrossed in his book.

The Cowboys ended the third quarter with possession of the ball, and still had it when the fourth quarter started up. They were on their own forty, second down and ten to go. As the teams were setting up on the line of scrimmage for the next play, the commentators were talking about Cas, showing a replay of him messing up the route of a wide receiver. They were impressed by Cas’ speed and agility, saying other teams were certainly going to keep an eye on him as the season progressed.

As Tony Romo [snapped the ball](%20) and [fell back](%20) to look for available receivers, Cas darted off the line of scrimmage to cover one of the Cowboys’ wide receivers. The quarterback launched the ball to the receiver Cas was defending and both Cas and the receiver jumped for the ball.

“What the fuck?!” Dean shouted, jumping to his feet, “That’s a penalty, ref! That asshole just pulled Cas down!” Dean fumed as the broadcast showed a replay of the receiver getting a hold of Cas’ shoulder pads as he tried to catch the ball and pulling Cas down hard onto the turf of [AT&T Stadium](%20).

“Wait a minute. ‘Cas?’” Sam looked up from his book.

“Shit, he’s not getting up.” Dean sat back down slowly, eyes glued to the TV. Dean bit his knuckle worriedly.

“Dean, do you know Castiel Novak?” Sam nudged an unresponsive Dean with his foot.

“Shuddup for a minute, boy. Novak’s injured.” Bobby said, eyes flicking from the TV to Dean.

Cas laid prone on the field clutching his left wrist as the Angels’ coach and trainers came out to swarm around him. The broadcast showed replays from a few different angles and it made Dean want to vomit every time Cas landed hard on his left wrist. By the time the station cut to a commercial, Dean’s stomach roiled with a mixture of fury and anxiety. He knew Cas didn’t have his phone with him on the field, but Dean was itching to call or text Cas immediately to find out the extent of Cas’ injuries. Dean squashed down his nervousness as much as possible, telling himself that Cas was in best possible hands. 

“Okay, Dean. What’s up? Do you know Castiel Novak?” Sam said once a commercial for a local ambulance chaser aired.

“I, uh,” Dean cleared his throat, “might have met him at a practice at Red Bull Field.” _And I’ve hung out at his house and I have his number saved as Cas in my phone, and I know what his tongue feels like_.

“Why didn’t you tell us, boy?” Bobby looked concerned.

“Uh, because, well, you try starting a conversation that begins with ‘Hey, by the way, my best friend is Castiel Novak, the professional football player’.” Dean didn’t even care what came out of his mouth. He just felt worse and worse. Cas was _hurt_ and he _should’ve_ told Bobby and Sam earlier and he was such a terrible friend and brother and ... 

“Best friend?” Bobby cut into Dean’s mental freak-out. “That’s a little more than ‘I met the guy at a practice’.” Bobby dropped his hand reassuringly on Dean’s shoulder as Dean started to hyperventilate.  
  
Dean winced, “Well, best friend’s not entirely accurate.” Dean dropped his head in his hands and mumbled, “it’smorelikehe’smyboyfriend?”

“Did you say boyfriend?” Sam piped in and Bobby shot him a warning look.

“Okay. I’m just going to go now. Nice to see you. Talk to you later.” Dean started to get up to leave, but Bobby’s hand on his shoulder held him down.

“Sit down, Dean. We don’t care if you have a boyfriend,” Bobby said, shooting Sam another warning glare. “What _I_ want to know is how the hell it’s _Novak_.” 

“I don’t even know,” Dean said to the floor, “I just met him one day at a practice and I didn’t think I’d ever see him again. Then he shows up at my gym on campus a week later and then I gave him my phone number and we started hanging out. And then _he_ kissed _me_ after last week’s game in the little area where they keep the golf carts.” Dean looked more hysterical as he went on, gesturing wildly. 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were makin’ that up.” Bobby scratched his beard contemplatively. Sam looked like he was doing very difficult mental math and mouthed _boyfriend?_ to himself a few times.

“See now why I didn’t tell you.” Dean finally looked up at Bobby, a pleading look in his eye.

“Hmm, Novak. You coulda done a lot worse than that one. Like one of them worthless Cowboys here.” Bobby gestured to the TV, the game having resumed after Castiel was pulled off the field. Bobby grinned at Dean and Dean knew he was up to no good. “So, when’re you bringing him by? Gotta make sure he’s good enough for our boy here, right Sam?”

“Oh yeah, Bobby. He needs to see the baby pictures and hear all the embarrassing stories.” Sam chimed in, grinning.

“Oh trust me, that’s _never_ gonna happen,” Dean said, pointing at Sam.

Bobby handed Dean a beer and said, “You might as well invite him over sooner rather than later, ‘cause the longer you wait, the more creative Sam and I have to get about gettin’ him here. Now drink your beer and shut up so we can finish this game.” Dean pouted and took a swig from his Bobby-approved beer. 

Dean could count on one hand the number of times Bobby had given Dean a beer. There were good times, like at the Angels game last season, when Bobby had passed his beer to Dean after an especially great play. Dean had only been 19, so he had sipped it away from the prying eyes of the roving security guards while Bobby cheered and hollered.

There were bad times, like when Dean’s first love broke his heart at sixteen and Dean slipped out of his parents’ house to mope around the salvage yard until Bobby found him holed up in one of the junkers. Bobby wordlessly passed him a cool Corona and sat with Dean until his tears dried. 

And then there was the time when his parents died.

So, a beer from Bobby _meant_ something. It wasn’t a tacit endorsement of using alcohol to solve Dean’s problems, since there was never a second beer and Dean never dared to drink alone under Bobby’s roof for fear of removal of privileges. These Bobby-approved beers were instead a way to communicate big things without saying a single word. The one at the Angels game said, “I think you’re old enough to handle this,” while the one in the junker said, “Let’s commiserate together.” 

The Castiel Novak beer, coupled with a proud look from Bobby, said, “Good for you Dean” and “I don’t give a fuck if you like guys” and “Guess you’re growing up faster than I thought.” Dean had lain awake at night, stressing out about Bobby’s and Sam’s reactions to Cas and their _relationship_ , but they just took it in stride. Neither of them thought any less of him because he was with a guy, and the unconditional support of his family made the tightly wound coil of anxiety in the pit of Dean’s stomach slightly loosen. He wasn’t ready to shout anything from the rooftops right now, but in time, with Cas and his family beside him, he might be one day.

\---

Castiel didn’t call Dean until almost eleven that night. Dean had been lounging on his futon in his underwear, catching up on some of his reading in his dorm room (and jiggling his leg and chewing on his pen anxiously, but Cas didn’t need to know that part) when his phone finally rang.

“Dean, I’m in Mission Hills,” Cas said wearily over the phone, “I’m home.”

“What happened to your wrist? Do you want me to come over? Do you need anything?” Dean quickly shut his book and scrambled to find his keys. He had one leg in his jeans when Cas stopped him.

“No, stay at school. By the time you get here, I’ll be asleep,” Cas lightly chuckled, “And it’s just a mild sprain.”

Dean dropped his jeans to the floor, one foot still in the leg hole and drew in a steadying breath. “Does it hurt?” Dean asked.

“Yes, quite a bit,” Dean felt sympathy pains at Cas’ answer, “But they have me on some pills for today and tomorrow, and they say I should feel better after that. All I feel like right now is passing out.”

“Okay, Cas, get some sleep,” Dean paused. As an athlete himself, Dean had seen his fair share sports injuries and sprains between gymnastics and cheerleading and the various classes he took for his Exercise Science major. He knew the Angels trainers had Cas’ sprain under control, but Dean still wanted desperately to make sure Cas was okay with his own eyes. “Can I come over Tuesday morning?”

“Of course, Dean. Talk to you tomorrow,” Cas yawned and ended the call. Dean hadn’t realized until Cas called just how worked up he had been. Dean felt relieved that nothing was broken and Cas’ career wasn’t over and that he was already back in Kansas. He flopped back on to his futon, and reached over to grab a soda from his mini-fridge. 

With Cas home, Dean could turn his thoughts from the endless what-ifs to pleasanter things, like when he would see Cas on Tuesday. If Cas were a girl, he’d bring flowers in the morning, or maybe chocolates, some other small present perhaps, to make her feel better. He might take her out for dinner or spend the day pampering her. But Cas was _not_ a girl and he had no idea how Cas felt about flowers or chocolates or going out for dinner or pampering. Well, knowing Cas, the spoiled brat, he could guess that Cas probably liked pampering. 

Dean groaned and grabbed for his abandoned textbook. He needed to get his reading done, _then_ he could divert some energy into how to take care of his boyfriend.

 


	6. Chapter 6

After spending the previous two days trying to downgrade his freak out from ‘all consuming’ to just ‘normal concern’ (and failing spectacularly), Dean pulled into Cas’ driveway at exactly nine thirty on Tuesday morning. He looked over that the small potted lavender plant that had ridden shotgun from Lawrence, hoping it was an acceptable gift for an injured significant other. Dean knew Cas loved plants, after observing his alarmingly fastidious treatment of a miniature herb garden he kept in his kitchen, but he was still waffling on his decision. 

Plus, Dean still didn’t know what the etiquette was for bringing flowers to a man he was romantically involved with. 

Walking up to the front door, Dean nearly tripped over a small gift-wrapped package with a card sitting on the top step. Dean figured someone else must’ve sent a “get well soon!” gift to Cas, and picked up the package as he rang the bell. Dean didn’t have to wait long for Cas’ housekeeper, a kind blonde woman in her mid-thirties named Nora, to answer the door and let him in. 

“So _you’re_ Dean,” she said before Dean even had a chance to introduce himself, giving him a knowing smile. Dean blushed and followed Nora into the kitchen, depositing the package and the plant on the kitchen island. Nora watched him grind Cas’ fancy free-trade organic coffee beans and pour the filtered water into the coffee maker with a soft smile. It had only been a handful of weeks, but Dean already moved around Cas’ kitchen like it was his own. 

As Dean went from task to task to make the cup of coffee exactly as he liked it, Nora grilled him about his school work and cheerleading and his family. When the coffee maker finally beeped, Dean was glad to have an excuse to escape up to Cas’ room and away from her scrutiny. She gave him an encouraging pat on his back and a significant look on his way out of the kitchen.

When he made it up to the master bedroom, Dean found Castiel still passed out face-down in his giant bed, half under and half on top of his duvet. Cas was only wearing a pair of black boxer briefs and a beige brace on his left wrist, which made Dean wince when he saw it. 

From his vantage point in the doorway, Dean could see the toned muscles of Cas’ back (and the wing tattoos that Dean still hadn’t gotten to touch) as Cas sprawled on top of his duvet. It made Dean want to crawl in bed and wrap himself around Cas, holding him close until he felt better. Dean didn’t know if they were at the point in their relationship, so he opted to quietly pad into the room and place his coffee mug as quietly as possible on Castiel’s bedside table before sitting down on the edge of the bed. He ran his fingers through Cas’ sleep-mussed hair and placed a gentle kiss on Cas’ temple.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Dean said quietly into Cas’ ear. Cas hummed contently and mumbled something that sounded conspicuously like “Dean.”

Cas rolled over and blinked open his eyes, he turned to look at Dean and gave him a puzzled look.

“Wha- how did you get in?” Cas asked, voice rough and cracking from sleep.

“Good morning to you, too, asshole,” Dean shot back playfully and Cas frowned. Dean laughed at Cas’ frown and answered, “Your housekeeper let me in.”

Castiel groggily nodded in understanding and made a clumsy play for the coffee mug Dean had brought.

“Nuh uh. This is mine,” Dean said as he pulled the mug out of Cas’ reach, “You can get your own when you get out of bed.” Cas shot him a murderous glance, kicking off his tangle of blankets. He rolled off the far side of the bed wordlessly and half-strolled, half-stumbled into his ensuite bathroom, closing the door behind him with a loud thud. After hearing the the flush of the toilet and mild cursing as the shower started, Dean took a few minutes to drink his coffee and scroll endlessly through university junk mail on his phone while Cas got ready for the day. 

After deleting an e-mail from the University Daily Kansan, Dean looked up when the door opened just a crack to the bathroom, taking that as his invitation to join Cas in the bathroom. He picked up his coffee cup and leaned on the doorframe to watch Castiel get ready. Cas had thrown on a white button-down shirt, open down the middle like the last time Dean had been in Cas’ bedroom, over clean pair of dark blue boxer briefs. He also had a toothbrush hanging precariously from his mouth.

“I talked to Nora while waiting for the coffee to brew,” Dean said as Cas brushed his teeth. Cas sent Dean an interested look and raised his eyebrows as if to say _go on_. 

“She _likes_ you,” Dean teased and Cas scoffed, “In between interrogating me about school, she had to tell me how _generous_ you were, how _accommodating._ So much better than your mother, apparently.” 

“Nora is a very nice and extremely intelligent lady and my mother wasn’t always aware of that,” Cas bristled, rinsing the toothpaste out of his mouth, “Also, Nora’s a single mother of an infant and I allow her a certain amount of flexibility in her schedule.”

“Ah, now the adjectives make sense.” Dean mused, sipping his coffee.

“Hmm.” Cas started to button up his shirt, but his swollen left hand greatly reduced his dexterity. Dean put his coffee on the counter and strolled over to Cas to help him out.

“She also said how happy she was that you had _found someone_ ,” Dean said, and Cas choked as Dean did up the bottom two buttons. “She said she was worried that you were turning into some creepy recluse and that you were going to die alone.”

Cas rolled his eyes, bringing up his uninjured hand to rub at his brow.

“Hey, she cares about you; that’s a good thing. Though she’s kind of intense and I’m worried she’s never going to let me leave.” Dean finished doing up the buttons except the top one and smoothed down the front of Cas’ shirt. He then rolled up Cas’ sleeves, making sure not to jostle Cas’ injured arm too much. 

“She’s been through a lot lately, but she’s tough. Don’t get on her bad side,” Cas warned as Dean started undoing the velcro of the wrist brace. He slipped Cas’ hand out of the brace and gingerly turned over Cas’ hand so he could see the extent of the injury. Dean gently touched the delicate bones and tendons of Cas’ wrist, lightly running his fingers over the bruised flesh, as Cas winced at the stiffness in his joint. Dean laid a soft kiss on the inside of Cas’ wrist before sliding the brace back over Cas’ fingers and resecuring it.

With the brace back in place, Cas slipped arms around Dean’s waist and kissed him soundly. Dean let himself get lost in the kiss, reveling in the softness of Cas’ mouth and strong arms holding him. When Cas finally let him up for air, it took a few seconds for the fog to clear from Dean’s brain and for him to realize that Cas had Dean’s mug in his good hand.

“Hey! That’s mine,” Dean protested as Cas sipped triumphantly, having used his proximity and the kiss as a temporary distraction to snag Dean’s coffee mug. Dean wasn’t sure that he liked Cas knowing how to play Dean like a fiddle, and he _knew_ it could only mean bad things for his sex life. “And you can’t use your hotness for evil.” Dean took the coffee back. Cas pouted at Dean like he knew that Dean would do anything if Cas offered himself in return.

“You are so spoiled,” Dean said, thumbing Cas’ jutting lower lip, “If you put on some pants, you can get your own damn coffee.” Dean took a possessive gulp of his coffee and Cas laughed.

“Good, yours is far too sweet anyway.” Cas walked back over to his closet, playfully swatting Dean on the ass on the way.

“Hey!” Dean yelped, “I have a very-hot, very-spillable beverage here.” Cas stuck his head out of the closet and looked Dean up and down.

“It’s not the only thing that’s very hot,” Cas said. Dean felt his face turn bright red at Cas’ appreciating glance.

“Okay, we’ve got to work on your flirting,” Dean pointed a finger at Cas as he emerged fully-dressed, fiddling with fly on his jeans.

“I don’t know,” Cas bantered back, grabbing Dean by the waist, “I think my flirting’s fine. I got you, didn’t I?”

Dean groaned and put his mug up to his face to hide his deepening blush. Cas gently pushed Dean so that Dean’s butt was pressed up against the counter, taking Dean’s mug from him and setting it down behind him. Cas kissed Dean firmly and passionately. He coaxed Dean’s lips open and Dean languidly savored the taste of Cas’ minty toothpaste as their tongues met. Cas brought his uninjured hand up to gently cup Dean’s jaw, rubbing his thumb on Dean’s clean-shaven cheek. Not wanting Cas to completely run the show, Dean hooked his fingers in Cas’ empty belt loops and tugged Cas’ hips closer, causing Cas to grunt in surprise into Dean’s mouth as their hips met. 

“Okay, I need coffee now.” Castiel licked his lips as if he could taste Dean’s coffee on his lips. He took a large step back from Dean and Dean leaned forward, trying to recapture Cas’ lips, but Cas just chuckled and walked out of the bathroom. Dean grumbled, following Cas downstairs to the kitchen. 

As soon as they walked in, Cas spotted the potted plant and the package on the kitchen island. Cas eyed the new additions to the kitchen warily and slipped by Dean to get his own mug.

“I don’t know anything about the package or the card, but the plant’s from me,” Dean offered an explanation after noticing Cas’ strange discomfort. Cas nodded and filled his mug wordlessly.

“I thought it would look nice in your kitchen or maybe in your backyard?” Dean babbled, “I dunno, man, if you were a chick I would’ve gotten you a bouquet. But you’re not. So I didn’t know what to bring. Because people usually bring gifts to the injured. I’m not sure why--” 

Dean trailed off nervously as Cas gave him a very serious look. Cas then turned to the small plant, picking it up and looking at it at eye-level. He gently tested the soil and ran his fingers over the petals, checking the health of the plant. He took it over to the sink and poured some water near the roots before placing it on the window sill next to his miniature herb garden.

He sniffed it once and sighed dreamily, before abruptly turning from the lavender plant and walking back over to Dean to give him a hug. 

“I love it, Dean,” Cas said into Dean’s neck. He pulled back to make eye-contact with Dean, “Would you like to see my bees?”

“Bees?” Dean blinked, confused.

“I have a couple hives of honeybees on some land just outside the city. And a smaller hive in my backyard. If you want to see them,” Cas offered sheepishly.

“You keep bees?” 

“Bees are extremely important to our ecosystem. Without them to pollinate, all the plants die, and then we die, Dean.” Cas looked at Dean seriously, like what he said was the most obvious thing in the world.

Dean put up his hands in surrender. “Alright, I get it. Show me your bees.” Cas pointedly ignored the package and the card on the island and picked up his coffee with his right hand. He gently shoved Dean with his injured hand to lead him outside. 

“And later, we can have some of the honey I’ve collected,” Cas said once they stepped into Cas’ unsurprisingly huge backyard. They stood on an expansive dark-stained wooden deck that started at the kitchen door and spread around a large pool and hot tub. The part nearest to the house was covered by a wooden arbor with ivy and fairy lights wrapped around the beams. 

To the right, the backyard gently sloped down since Cas’ house was built into a small hill. At the bottom of the hill, Cas’ basement opened onto a small forest of American Elms and Eastern Cottonwoods and Dean could see a tiny creek which led to the edges of Cas’ property.

Cas led Dean to the left instead, to a large flower garden surrounded by more trees and a stone fence. Cas pointed to a wooden box sitting on a stand tucked in the far corner of the spacious lawn under the shade of one of Cas’ ancient oaks. Dean could see bees coming and going from the box and visiting the flowers in Cas’ garden. He also saw a few take off over Cas’ fence to check out the flowers in neighboring gardens. 

As they watched the bees, Cas snaked his left arm around Dean’s waist, though the velcro of his brace had to be pulled from Dean’s shirt before Cas could comfortably rest his arm against Dean’s lower back. Dean wrapped his own arm around Cas’ waist as Cas dropped his head on Dean’s shoulder. From this position, he could hear Cas’ quiet contented sighs and smell Cas’ fancy salon-brand shampoo and Dean couldn’t remember the last time he felt this at peace. 

He knew it must have been before his parents died, when he was young and thought they’d live forever. He had been just a kid, with the kind of stability that only comes when you feel untouchable and immortal, and haven’t seen the worst of the world. Dean envied his younger self, the version of himself who could always find comfort from the bad things in his mother’s arms. He hadn’t been lying to Cas when he said high school’d been tough; shit, it’d been _hell_. But then he’d come home and mom would talk to him and Dean would crack a joke at Sam’s expense and John would say he was proud of Dean for sticking up for himself.

After high school, that peace was gone.

Dean pressed a kiss to the top of Cas’ head and Cas hummed his appreciation. What he felt wrapped up with Cas was a different kind of peace, though. It was a sort of contentment, tinged with feelings of security and pleasure that came from the knowledge that Cas _chose_ him to be his friend and boyfriend.

The two of them stood like that, watching the bees buzz around, drinking coffee, for several minutes in silence before Cas quietly sighed and extracted himself from Dean’s side.

“Dean, it’s my birthday today,” Cas said, one of the most serious expressions Dean’d ever seen on his face.

“It is?” Dean racked his brain, trying to remember if Cas had ever mentioned it before.

“Yes,” Cas said, “September 18th.”

“Oh, did I need to get you a present?” Dean asked, concerned by Cas’ sudden announcement. Cas must have been mulling over whether or not to tell Dean the whole time they were staring at the bees, feeling conflicted about his birthday. Dean didn’t really understand how anyone could feel weird about their birthday, but maybe Cas never had cake and Chuck-E-Cheese parties and NERF guns for presents. 

“No Dean,” Cas turned to look at Dean, placing his and Dean’s empty coffee mugs on the patio table, “You’ve already given me the best present I could ask for.” Cas laced his fingers with Dean’s and squeezed Dean’s hand.

“The plant?” Dean asked, “That was a get-well-soon thing, not a birthday thing.” 

“Not the plant,” Cas shook his head and gave Dean a lopsided smile, “You.”

“Oh,” Dean blushed for the millionth time that day. Being around Cas turned him into such a fucking sap.

“Would you just stay with me today, Dean?” Cas asked, sighing, “We could lay around all day watching that show you like. Star something.”

“We could do that, Spock.” Castiel frowned at the nickname and opened his mouth to protest when Dean cut him off.

“Or we could make use of your fancy schmancy hot tub.” Dean winked and tilted his head toward the hot tub. Cas nodded in agreement, giving Dean his own slightly twitchy wink, and went over to the controls for the hot tub and turned the heat and jets on.

“Oh yeah. And you’re getting a blanket fort.” Dean called to Cas, pulling his shoes off.

Cas rolled his eyes. “Dean, I am not a child. We are not building a blanket fort. And you don’t have a swimming suit.” Dean could feel Cas’ annoyed stare on the back of his neck as he pulled off his socks and stuffed them in his shoes.

Dean waggled his eyebrows and pulled his t-shirt over his head. Now it was Castiel’s turn to blush.

“ _Dean_ ,” Cas hissed, “Nora is still here!”

“I wasn’t going get _completely_ naked.” Dean popped the button on his jeans and Cas was completely mesmerized as Dean pulled down the zipper of his fly, maybe a little more slowly than necessary. Dean smirked to himself, asking, “Don’t you wanna get us some towels?”

“Uh, okay.” Cas swallowed before disappeared into the house for a few minutes. Dean grinned to himself, happy that he could have the same mind-numbing effect on Cas that Cas had on him. 

It was a nice day, sunny, but mild, and Dean enjoyed the way the soft breeze played with his hair as he sat down on the edge of the hot tub, jeans still on but fly undone. When Cas reemerged, he had a giant pile of fluffy oversized towels, which he dropped unceremoniously on the deck next to Dean. Dean stood up and started pulling his pants off, but stopped abruptly when he saw Cas made no move to get undressed.

“What’s up, Cas?” Dean asked, worried that Cas was chickening out on him.

“The buttons, Dean,” Cas toyed with one of his buttons with his good hand. Dean laughed and unrolled Cas’ sleeves. He undid the top few buttons, before pulling the shirt over Castiel’s head, which made Cas’ hair stick out in every direction. Cas tried to smooth it down a little while Dean went for the top button of Cas’ jeans.

“I can do that one, Dean,” Cas said petulantly and Dean tsked, unbuttoning and unzipping Cas’ jeans.

“We’ve got to make sure your hand is getting rest,” Dean said with a wink, before slipping a hand under Cas’ jeans to grab a handful of muscular football-player ass. Cas gasped and playfully swatted Dean’s arm away. Castiel put some distance between them so they could both take off their remaining clothes, except their underwear, before hopping in the hot water. 

They both agreed that it was probably a bad idea for Cas to get his brace wet, so Dean positioned Cas so that he practically hanging off the side, arms dangling over the edge of the hot tub. With his back toward Dean, Dean reached out to run his hands over Cas’ back. Cas hummed appreciatively as Dean started at the divots just above Cas’ ass and began rubbing firm circles up Cas’ spine. 

“You’re good at that,” Cas noted dreamily after a few minutes of Dean’s massage.

“Well, I discovered after taking Anatomy that knowledge of human musculature is extremely useful for massages,” Dean chuckled, smoothing his hands over Cas’ shoulders. He was finally getting to touch Cas’ tattoos, gently tracing them with his fingertips or thumbs as he rubbed Cas’ shoulders, and he loved every moment of it.

“So, uh,” Dean started, hesitating, running a finger along a inked secondary feather, “I’ve always wondered. What’s with the wings?” Cas laughed dryly and Dean could feel the muscles of Cas’ back tightening under his hands. 

“A birthday present to myself several years ago. My first rebellion against my mother that she couldn’t cover up or pretend it never happened.” Cas sighed, staring off toward his garden, “Birthdays were never a big deal when I was a kid, but ever since I got my tattoos, she likes to use the occasion to remind me what a disappointment I am. And especially after kicking her out of the house this summer, I’m sure this year’s guilt trip is a doozy. That package you brought in was from her and I have no intention of opening it.” As Cas explained, Dean could feel the tension in Cas’ shoulders and the fury just barely simmering under the surface. Dean hoped he never was on the receiving end of Cas’ barely-contained anger.

Dean decided to end Cas’ brooding by suddenly pulling Cas on to his lap. 

“Dean!” Cas yelped, “What are you doing?!” Cas threw up his arms to keep his brace from getting wet, and Dean hugged Cas from behind. Cas gradually relaxed into Dean’s hold as he realized Dean wasn’t going to let him go any time soon. 

“Cas, I’m going to make this the best birthday ever,” Dean said, kissing his promise into Castiel’s wings. 

“It already is,” Cas stated plainly, turning his head over his shoulder to capture Dean’s mouth in a kiss.

\---

Cas and Dean stayed in the hot tub only a little longer, cuddling and talking and trying desperately (and pretty much failing) to keep Cas’ brace from getting soaked. When they got out, they took turns drying each other with Cas’ enormous towels, Cas grumbling as Dean rubbed his towel roughly on his head. Cas’ excuse that he was injured (and didn’t deserve such rough treatment) only worked until he snapped Dean hard on the back of the thigh with a sopping wet towel.

Once calmed down and relatively dry, Cas picked up the towels and led Dean back into the house, turning toward the laundry room while Dean tried to remember where the downstairs bathroom was. Cas found Dean in the kitchen, shivering and dripping on to the tile floor, still in damp boxers, and handed him a bundle of sweatpants and a t-shirt fresh from the dryer. Cas already wore his own loose-fitting t-shirt over low-slung sweatpants, and Dean unconsciously licked his lips at the sliver of flesh peeking out between them. Cas let out a bark of laughter at Dean’s hungry look, exchanging Dean’s jeans and t-shirt for the soft, warm bundle in Cas’ arms. 

After getting changed, Castiel let Nora have the rest of the day off and Dean made them grilled cheese sandwiches, which they ate with salty potato chips on the floor of the den. True to his word, Cas denied Dean his blanket fort, though Dean felt he was very persuasive with his epic pouting. Dean settled instead for taking Cas’ luxurious duvet from the master bedroom and covering the two of them with it on the couch. 

They only made it through half an episode of Star Trek before Dean found himself with the duvet thrown over the back of the couch and a lapful of Castiel for the second time that day. 

“Makin’ this a habit?” Dean asked, rubbing his hands up Cas’ thighs. Cas hummed his assent and dragged his lips and teeth up Dean’s neck. He sucked on Dean’s earlobe, and Dean’s hips jerked so violently he thought he was going to throw Cas off his lap. If Cas kept doing that, Dean was going to develop a fetish. Cas laughed instead, and Dean could feel the puff of warm, humid air against the sensitive spot just under his ear. Dean moaned as Cas latched onto that spot, before abruptly stopping and pulling back to sit on his heels.

Cas looked Dean solemnly in the eyes and asked, “Dean, how do you feel about hickeys?” 

Dean blinked. It had been a while since he had a hickey. Like four or five years since he’d had one. He’d been proud of his lovebites at fifteen or sixteen, but he didn’t know if he wanted to face Benny’s knowing looks or to have his professors be quite so aware of his weekend activities.

“Uh, I don’t know,” Dean said, deflecting, “Cas, how do _you_ feel about hickeys?” Castiel put his hand on his chin and hummed.

“I don’t know. I’ve never had one,” He shrugged, then looked at Dean’s neck suggestively, “Or given one for that matter.” Cas swooped back in to resume sucking on Dean’s neck, but Dean held him back by the hips.

“Wait a sec, Cas.” Dean pulled his t-shirt off for the second time that day in front of Cas. He gestured to his naked torso and said, “You can try it out where’s it’s not _quite_ so visible.” Cas licked his lips as he took in all of Dean’s muscled chest. Dean felt a little self-conscious under Cas’ scrutiny, even though Dean was usually proud of his body. He was a collegiate athlete after all, but he wasn’t nearly as buff or as toned as Cas, and he’d never gotten the definition in his pecs or his abs that he wanted. 

But Castiel didn’t seem to care too much about Dean’s sudden discomfort, finding a spot he liked just above Dean’s right nipple and sucking _hard_. Dean gasped, torn between the slight pain of Cas’ mouth and the soothing circles Cas rubbed into Dean’s sides where Cas held him. Cas laved the spot with his tongue, eliciting another hitch in Dean’s breath, before placing a brief peck on it. 

Cas admired his handiwork, the seriousness of his expression making Dean chuckle breathlessly, “So, what do you think?” 

“Enjoyable,” Cas answered after taking a moment, again, to think, “but I won’t know for sure until I have a more robust pool of data.” Cas’ grin turned devilish and he picked another spot, not an inch from the first, to bite and suck. Cas’ teeth met Dean’s skin and Dean started panting. His hips gave an involuntary shallow thrust, seeking friction against any part of Castiel. When he was satisfied with his work, Castiel pulled back again and ran his fingers over the two marks. The touch elicited a shiver from Dean, which turned into a moan when Cas’ fingers brushed over Dean’s hard nipple. Castiel just eyed Dean studiously, slightly canting his head and seeming to catalogue Dean’s reactions.

“What sort of sexual acts are you interested in performing with me?” Castiel asked nonchalantly. 

“What!?” Dean spluttered, “I don’t know!” 

“I have done quite a bit of research about what I want,” Cas said, giving Dean a scorching look and dragging his nails down Dean’s chest. Dean’s mind immediately went to Cas looking at all manner of pornography on his top-of-the-line laptop, writing up a pro/con list for every position and kink he could find. “But I have no practical experience.” 

Dean was about make some comment about all of _his_ experience being useless, with the one-two punch of never having done _it_ with a guy and Cas’ preternatural ability to make cogent thought fly from Dean’s head. But that was when Dean suddenly became _very_ aware Cas’ growing erection where it pushed against his belly. Dean sucked in a breath and asked shakily, “And you want to get some practical experience? Today?” 

“Yes, I thought that was obvious.” Cas ground his hips down on Dean’s to punctuate his statement. Dean’s eyes rolled back in his head as he felt Cas’ sweatpants-clad cock brush his own.

“Uh, sorry I’m a little slow on the uptake.” Dean took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. “I _do_ want you, though. I’ve imagined, uh, _it_. With you,” Dean rambled, his leg jiggling nervously under Cas, “But I’m not really sure how to _do_ this. I mean I’ve _had sex_ before, but I’ve never, uh, done _it_ with a man.”

He felt his face turning red with embarrassment; this was _not_ how he had pictured sex with Cas going. When he had thought about this moment (in the shower, just before bed, in his Exercise Physiology class …), there had been much less stammering and much more Dean showing a shy virgin Castiel the ropes. Instead, Castiel took the reins, and in this instance, Dean was perfectly fine with that. 

“I thought we established that I haven’t either,” Cas said simply and resumed kissing Dean senseless, now with renewed vigor. Cas dragged his mouth from Dean’s lips to his jaw, biting and sucking again from Dean’s chin to his ear as Dean’s anxiety quickly turned back to excitement.

“Now, Dean,” Cas said mockingly, readjusting to sit more on Dean’s knees than his thighs, “We need to make sure you’re not losing your cheerleading skills on your day off.” Cas’ mouth was drawn up in a devilish grin, and Dean already knew that didn’t bode well for him.

“Why are you talking about that now?” Dean asked, confused and horny -- he definitely definitely wasn’t pouting.

“Give me an ‘O’.” Cas put his arms up in a V and Dean rolled his eyes.

“Really, Cas?” Dean looked up incredulously at Cas. Cas laughed and, before Dean knew what was happening, he pushed his hand under the waistband of Dean’s sweatpants. Cas wrapped his hand around Dean’s semi-hard cock and Dean moaned, “Ooohhhh.”

Cas smiled broadly, running the heel of his palm over Dean’s cock, cupping his balls, and Dean’s eyes fluttered closed. Cas’ grip was loose and his touch light but purposeful, and it was more than enough to work Dean to full hardness in just a few seconds. Cas barely grazed his thumb down the underside of Dean’s dick and Dean felt like he would combust if he didn’t get a more substantial touch. He opened his eyes to Cas staring directly at his face and the intensity of Cas’ look, eyes wide and nostrils flared, focused on Dean’s face rather than his other parts, made Dean’s heart feel like it was about to burst. 

Without warning, Cas pulled his hand out of Dean’s pants, and Dean suppressed a whine. Cas grabbed the waistband of Dean’s sweatpants and tugged impatiently as Dean moved his hips up as much as he could with Castiel still sitting on his legs. Between the two of them, they managed to pull Dean’s sweatpants down to mid-thigh and expose himself to another of Cas’ never-ending concentrated looks. Cas licked his lips at the sight of Dean, and dragged his thumb over Dean’s foreskin. 

“Hmm,” Cas said, “It’s different than mine.” Cas answered Dean’s silent question about what was different by standing up and shimmying out of his clothes altogether. Now naked standing in front of Dean, he understood Cas’ comment. Cas was circumcised; Dean was not. 

Cas’ cut dick wasn’t the only thing Dean noticed about newly-naked Cas. Dean had known that Cas was ripped (Cas was a football player after all), but the man in front of him might as well have been carved from marble. Dean had seen Cas’ naked torso on several occasions, and he had caught glimpses of Cas’ muscled thighs and calves, but he hadn’t been prepared for six feet of solid muscle. The reality of seeing all of Cas sunk in as Dean’s eyes raked over the miles of naked tanned skin and took in the light dusting of dark hair on his forearms, legs and under his belly button. Dean’s eyes were finally drawn to Cas’ prominent erection by the sharp angles of Cas’ hips and Dean never wanted Cas to wear clothes again.

Cas let Dean look for a few seconds, then made short work of Dean’s own pants, quickly tugging them the rest of the way down and throwing them in the heap of clothes on the floor. Dean resisted the urge to cover himself, especially since Cas was so unabashed in his own nudity. Cas gave Dean a hungry look, palming his own erection, like he couldn’t figure out what he wanted to do to Dean first. 

Seeing Cas touching himself made Dean realize for the first time what great hands Castiel had. They were strong hangs, with wide palms and long fingers, tanned and dextrous. He still had one wrist in the beige brace, but even the brace and slight swelling of Cas’ fingers couldn’t detract from Cas’ beautiful, yet strong hands. And Dean wanted nothing more than Cas’ beautiful and strong hands back on his body.

Cas, however, took a detour before returning to Dean, stepping over the one of the tables next to the couch and pulling a small bottle of lube out of a drawer.

“Why- How-?” Dean spluttered. 

“I’ve been … optimistic?” Cas said, putting the bottle within easy reach next to Dean’s thigh.

“Just get back over here.” Dean maneuvered Cas back into his lap, and Cas sat on Dean’s knees, staring hungrily at Dean’s cock. Without his pants, Cas could get a hand around Dean in earnest now, giving him a few experimental strokes, feeling out the length and girth of Dean’s dick and toying with Dean’s foreskin. Dean panted and balled his hands in fists at his sides. Someone just _touching_ him had never felt so good.

When Cas decided he was done torturing Dean with exploratory touches and not enough pressure, he grabbed Dean’s right hand and poured some lube on it. He guided Dean’s hand to wrap it somewhat loosely around Cas’ own erection, and Dean’s brain nearly short circuited. This was the first time Dean had really touched another man’s junk, despite countless fantasies, and Dean wasn’t sure what to do with it. Dean grabbed a handful of Cas’ toned ass to bring him closer, and set to work trying out all the things Dean had liked best in previous handjobs. He fondled Cas’ balls and stroked Cas’ dick, alternating between a succession of quick pulls of the shaft and slow rubs of the head, teasing Cas’ slit and gathering up beads of precome. Dean felt a small surge of pride when he looked up at Cas’ face: Cas’ jaw had fallen slack and he shook almost imperceptibly, right at the edge. That was when Cas stilled Dean’s hand.  

“Not yet.” Cas breathed, flushed and lightly sweating, and Dean obediently rested his hands on Cas’ thighs while Cas came back down. Cas took a few calming breaths before urging Dean to scoot his ass closer to the edge of the couch. In this new position, Cas could bring their cocks together, taking them both in his good hand and Dean moaned at the new sensation of Cas’ cock pressed against his own. 

Cas drizzled some more lube on them and gave them a few quick strokes in his giant hand to coat them both. Dean hissed at the cold and retaliated with a shallow, unexpected thrust in the channel of Cas’ fist. Cas’ breath hitched at the sudden sensation and Dean filed away the wild look in Cas’ eyes and little breathy noise for later.

Cas dropped his head on Dean’s shoulder, increasing the speed of his strokes, and Dean could tell Cas was close again. Dean brought his arms up to grab Cas’ ass again, this time with both hands, pushing him even closer to Dean. All it took was a few more strokes to push Cas over the edge and Dean felt Cas’ whole body tense up before he came on Dean’s belly and chest with a sigh. The sensation was new for Dean (and definitely not as unpleasant as Dean had anticipated), and it sent a jolt of electricity up his spine. He wrapped his own hand around Cas’, which had slowed down considerably post-orgasm, and helped Cas pick up the pace again. Cas had started to kiss Dean again, dropping hot, open-mouthed and sloppy kisses from Dean’s shoulder to just behind his ear. Cas finally took Dean’s earlobe in his mouth again and bit down. The sharp burst of pain combined with the feeling of their joined hands on his cock made Dean cry out and come between them.

Cas nuzzled Dean neck and wrapped his injured, non-jizz-covered hand around Dean’s shoulders. Dean brought his own clean arm up hold Cas just under his shoulder blades. They were breathing heavily together, waiting for their heart rates to return to normal, when Cas snorted into the space where Dean’s neck met his shoulder.

“What’s so funny?” Dean asked, suddenly self-conscious of his performance, and pushed Cas into a sitting position. 

“I’m just happy,” Cas shrugged, wiping his good hand off on Dean’s chest as Dean protested. Cas smiled at Dean, planting a sure kiss on Dean as he pushed himself off the couch. 

“I’ll be right back, so don’t move,” Cas pointed at Dean, “I don’t want _that_ all over my couch.” Cas gestured at the mess of fluids on Dean’s chest and Dean rolled his eyes because that ship had likely already sailed. 

Dean looked down at himself. He _was_ a mess, covered in sweat and saliva and his come and Cas’ come. Usually, in this situation, post-coital and sticky, Dean would feel sated, like an itch was scratched (though a little grossed out by all the bodily fluids). But this time, it was more than just a physical need fulfilled. He, like Castiel, felt happy. Dean was surprised over and over again just how truly _happy_ Cas could make him feel, whether texting Dean insane questions or asking what sorts of “sexual acts” Dean wanted to perform or just lying next to Dean. It all made Dean _happy_. 

After retrieving a few towels (wet and dry), Cas immediately set to cleaning Dean up. This process was somewhat hindered by Dean grabbing Cas from time to time to pull him in for additional kisses. Once both of them were cleaned up (Castiel had to resort to sitting on Dean’s knees and holding Dean’s hands still), Dean helped Cas put his clothes back on, wearing a dopey lopsided grin.

“Dean, I don’t need help,” Cas said trying to snatch his shirt from Dean’s grasp.

“Of course you do. You’re injured,” Dean stated plainly, doing his best Castiel-voice. “Now, arms up,” Dean ordered, rolling up the shirt in preparation. Cas glared at Dean, but put his arms up anyway, and Dean slipped the bunched up shirt over his head. He may have accidently on purpose brushed Cas’ junk while smoothing out the shirt, causing Cas to choke out an admonishing, “Dean! Stop that!.” Castiel took his pants and pulled them on himself, the whole time shooting Dean warning glares that only served to make Dean giggle.

Once they were both dressed, they piled back on the couch to finish up the episode. 

“So, best birthday ever?” Dean asked, wrapping his arms around Cas’ waist and laying his head on Cas’ chest.

“There are still several hours to my birthday, so I won’t know for sure until midnight. Why don’t you stay and find out?” Cas retorted, giving Dean a challenging look.

“Cas, do you want me to spend the night?” Dean asked seriously, looking up from Cas’ chest. He had just had sex with the man, but potentially being asked to stay the night caused his stomach to flutter hopefully.

“Please, Dean,” Cas answered. Dean nodded his agreement and gripped Cas tighter, hiding a blush in Cas’ sternum. He had classes on Wednesdays, but not until noon, so he had wouldn’t even have to get up too early to get back to campus.

Cas brought his hand up to run his fingers through Dean’s hair and Dean sighed contentedly. He closed his eyes and let himself doze on Cas’ chest, dreaming of Cas and happy birthdays. 

\---

When Dean’s alarm went off at six AM the next morning, he was surprised to find a body where his nightstand should be. There was also hand on his bare ass that usually wasn’t there, as well as a naked chest blocking his line of vision. It wasn’t until the body groaned at Dean’s still blaring alarm that Dean remembered that he had spent the night with Castiel. They had spent the rest of the afternoon and all evening watching movies and playing games (Dean taught Cas canasta and Cas taught Dean how to lose at Carcassonne) before practicing their respective handjob techniques again in bed. 

“Dean,” Cas urged, shoving Dean’s phone in his face, “Off.” Dean took his still ringing phone and shut off the alarm while Castiel burrowed back under the blankets and threw an arm and a leg over Dean.

“Don’t go,” Cas mumbled into Dean’s chest, gripping Dean tighter.

“I have to go,” Dean said, bemused, “I have to work out and go to class.”

“Skip it.” Cas looked up from Dean’s chest, “It’s my birthday. You have to do what I say.”

“Okay, that excuse is not gonna work.” Dean laughed, prying Cas’ arm from his waist and working his legs free, “Your birthday was yesterday. And you have to be at work soon, anyway.” Dean slipped from the bed and walked to the bathroom to pee and brush his teeth and put in his contacts. He had left his glasses and contact case and saline solution at his dorm since he hadn’t planned on spending the night. Fortunately, Cas had scrounged up some old 35mm film canisters and some eye drops which, while not ideal, had worked for a night. If this whole sleeping over thing was going to become a regular occurrence, Dean thought he should probably keep some supplies at Castiel’s.

“Enjoying the view?” Dean asked when he saw that Cas had propped himself up on his elbow as he emerged from the bathroom. Cas eyed Dean hungrily, and Dean smirked to hide his embarrassment.

“Dean, do you have cheer practices on Fridays?” Castiel asked.

“Depends. If the Jayhawks are at home, then yeah, I do,” Dean said, putting on his boxers from the day before. After Dean’s nap, but before dinner, Cas had thrown Dean’s clothes into the washing machine, and now his clothes all smelled like Cas’ laundry detergent. It made Dean smile to himself whenever he got a whiff of it. 

“But if they’re away,” Dean continued, pulling his t-shirt over his head, “the away squad has practice and I don’t have to do anything but class on Fridays. Why do you ask?”

“Well, I’ve never been in a relationship before, but doesn’t it usually involve dates?” Cas scrunched up his face.

“I don’t know, Cas. I haven’t really done this either,” Dean replied, sighing. Dates meant going out in public and being seen together, and Dean wasn’t sure if that was even a good idea for them.

“Well, _I_ want to go on a date.” Cas looked exasperated. “We’ve done the hanging around each other’s places part and the sex part and the spend the night part, and I think that those are technically supposed to come after the a real, dress-up and go out part.”

“I dunno, man.” Dean dragged a hand over his face. “I don’t think we fall into _supposed to_. Hell, I’m pretty much just making this up as I go.” Dean zipped up his jeans and got a withering glare from Cas. Pants on, Dean sat down on the edge of the bed, his back to Cas and shoulders slumped. 

“The last time I dated someone seriously was years ago. Like before my parents died,” Dean said sheepishly, rolling on his socks. When Cas still said nothing, Dean continued, “But I, uh” Dean looked at ceiling and brushed his fingers against Cas’ hand, “this is hard for me, okay? I mean, I _care_ about you. I want to do whatever makes you happy. And if that’s going on real, honest-to-God dates, then I think I can manage.”

“Good,” Cas beamed and laced his fingers with Dean’s, “Then we’re going on a date.” Cas angled his head and closed his eyes for a kiss.

“You are so spoiled! You just pout and glare until you get your way,” Dean teased, pecking Cas on the lips. “But I can’t do this Friday,” Dean added, “Home game.”

“And next Friday’s out for me,” Cas rolled his head into his pillow and rumbled, “My mother’ll be in town for the Broncos game. So I’ll be too busy having her disappointment drilled into my head.” 

“Maybe the one after that? That’s a...” Dean scrunched up his face and looked at the ceiling, trying to remember the Jayhawks’ football schedule, “yeah, that’s another away game, so we can go out on a date, not this Friday or next Friday, but the Friday after that.” Dean beamed and nudged Cas so that he turned to lay on his back. He leaned over his grumpy boyfriend and kissed him long and deep. They weren’t going to be able to see each other for a few days, so Dean wanted to make this kiss count. Cas brought his arms up to wrap around Dean’s waist and snake under Dean’s t-shirt.

Cas broke for air, breathless and aroused, “And Dean, --” 

“Yeah, Cas?” Dean wasn’t much better off.

“I care about you, too,” Cas said, giving Dean one final kiss goodbye.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, but GISHWHES put me a little behind schedule. The next chapter (Chapter 8) should be up next Tuesday or Wednesday, though it could be pushed back to the weekend. Follow [my tumblr](http://s-cornelius.tumblr.com/) for more detailed updates!

Over the next few weeks after Cas’ birthday, Dean’s new relationship with Cas seemed to really fall into place. In fact, being with someone had ever been so easy. 

With the girls in high school, Dean always felt like dating was a game and he didn’t know all the rules. Or the rules were always changing. Either way, Dean lost the game more often than not. The girls interested in Dean in college fell into two different, but no less tricky categories: those who wanted to have a good time, and those who wanted to settle down. Both sets of girls were relatively easy to figure out, apply formula _x_ for girl _x_ to get desired result _y_ , but Dean couldn’t always tell the two groups apart. This confusion was one of the contributing factors to his difficult first semester (another, unsurprisingly, was alcohol).

But being with Cas was surprisingly _uncomplicated_.

Dean didn’t know if this thing with Cas was easy because he was _Cas_ or if it was because Cas was a man. Part of Dean wished that he had been with men before Cas, not only so he wouldn’t be so unsure in the bedroom (though Cas was new at this too, and _he_ lacked any sort of insecurity or hesitation), but also so that he’d have something to compare being with Cas to.

Or maybe it was because he’d spent years trying to figure out the game to woo women with varying degrees of success. Instead of seeing Cas as a game or an end goal, he’d seen him as a person and a friend. _That_ thoughtmade Dean feel pretty shitty about how he’d treated women since puberty. 

At the same time, he wouldn’t be with Cas if it weren’t for his long history of failed relationships and one-night stands. And he wouldn’t be racing back to his dorm on his bike, hoping to convince Cas to make this afternoon’s phone call less of the philosophical variety and more of the pornographic. 

Once back at his dorm, Dean locked his bike on the rack and practically ran up the stairs, already imagining the little sobs and moans he could coax out of Cas. He impatiently waited out the ride up to his floor on the elevator, jangling his keys restlessly to the annoyance of the other people on the elevator, as he worked out his attack strategy. He zoomed past the elevators doors the second there was a large enough gap for him to fit through, but when he saw Charlie sitting in a ball in front of his door with her head in her hands, he knew that phone sex was off the table. 

Dean walked slowly toward her and knelt down next to her, putting his hand gently on her shoulder. She looked up at him, eyes red-rimmed and tears streaking down her face, and his heart broke.

“Dean,” Charlie sniffled, eyes red-rimmed and puffy from crying, “Can we talk?”

Dean nodded helped her get up from the floor. He opened the door to his room and threw his backpack in, before enveloping her in a hug. 

“Do you want to get milkshakes?” he asked, his chin on her head, “I’m buying.” 

“That sounds good,” she said into his t-shirt, her voice cracking. He held her until she stopped shaking and steered them to the elevator, still holding her around the waist. With his free hand, he shot off a quick text to Cas to let him know that he would have to postpone their call. Once they made it out into the fresh early-fall air of Lawrence, Dean decided that cafeteria milkshakes weren’t going to cut it. He led Charlie to the Impala and once they were both in, he rumbled out of the McCollum parking lot, heading for I-10.

“Dean, not that I don’t appreciate this, but where the frak are we going?” Charlie asked, her face still red from crying and her voiced rough with mucus.

Dean just waggled his eyebrows in response and Charlie scoffed, “Well I still want my milkshake.”

“You’ll get your damn milkshake. Hold your hippogriffs,” Dean chided. They rode in silence for a few miles, until Dean pulled into the drive thru of Lawrence’s Steak’n’Shake.

“You’re taking me to Steak’n’Shake?” Charlie looked appalled (like why would anyone take a their grief-stricken friend to a chain fast-food place?), but changed her tune when she saw she could get a chocolate fudge brownie milkshake. Dean ordered a salted caramel milkshake for himself and a large fry to share and they hit the road again. Charlie sipped hers in contemplative silence, staring out the window at the passing scenery and occasionally grabbing a fry to munch on.

When they pulled into the parking lot at Clinton State Park, just outside Lawrence, Charlie smiled for the first time since Dean had found her in the hallway in recognition. 

The park was special to Dean and Charlie. The first time the two of them had hung out after their initial meeting had been during a three-day LARP in this park. Dean had proven himself a worthy ally and excellent hand maiden to Queen Charlie, and they had been inseparable ever since. The open fields, abundance of campsites and beautiful wooded terrain made it a LARPers dream come true and Dean had caught Charlie more than once wandering through the woods on that and subsequent weekends. He hoped that by bringing her here, he could make her feel at least a little better.

Dean also loved this park for his own reasons unconnected to Charlie or LARPing. More times than he could remember, Dad and Bobby had brought him and Sam out here for fishing or hunting or camping, spending long summer weekends at the marina or in tents, communing with the outdoors as Bobby’d put it. Then, after Bobby’s wife died (Dean couldn’t have been more that nine or ten years old), the four of them had taken a week-long hunting trip in these woods. Bobby didn’t do much hunting, but something about being outdoors seemed to lessen his grief slightly. Again, right after Dean’s mom had died (and his dad had disappeared off to God knows where), Bobby had rented a cabin in these very woods, and the three of them, Dean and Sam and Bobby, had hiked and fished and railed at the universe for the unfairness of it all together. 

They got out of the Impala and Dean nudged Charlie in the direction of a trail, which they walked in silence for a few minutes. Charlie kept sipping her milkshake and Dean could tell she enjoyed the light breeze and dappled light of the forest, though her enjoyment was obviously tempered by the weight of something terrible. Dean knew things had to be pretty bad for her to even admit she needed help, but he didn’t want to push her; she would talk about it when she was ready. 

Charlie stopped walking suddenly and took a deep breath before breaking the silence. “My mom died,” she said, her voice breaking on the last word, “She was on life support, but she took a turn for the worse, and I _had to do it_. Dean, _I had to_.” Dean wrapped up his friend in tight embrace as she started to cry, nearly crushing her milkshake. There was a fallen log next to the trail, and Dean walked them both over to it. They both sat down on it awkwardly, still holding each other, and Dean patted her head. 

“How did you do it, Dean?” Charlie asked into Dean’s shoulder, the question muffled, “How do you ever get over this?”

“I don’t know,” Dean sighed, “I’m not over it.” 

Charlie nodded solemnly and laid her head back on Dean’s shoulder. As Charlie cried out her grief, Dean felt his own tears prickle at the corners of his eyes. He was sad for his friend who had had to make an awful decision that resulted in losing her mother. He was sad for Sam and himself, for all the things they were never going to have with their mother. And he was even sad for Cas whose mother was alive, but who he doubted had ever really been a mother at all. 

When Charlie’s crying subsided again, Dean tried to lighten the mood, “Why don’t you stay with Gilda, tonight. I’m sure she’ll _take care_ of you.”

Charlie’s lip wobbled and she burst into a new round of tears. Between sobs, Dean could make out that Gilda had broken up with Charlie that past weekend because she was moving back to her home country (which one exactly Dean could never remember) to take care of her family. Dean wrapped his arm around her shoulders and let her cry into his again. He had all sorts of unidentified fluids on his shirt from all the crying, which made Dean grimace internally, but he supposed that the tears and snot would wash out. 

“OK,” Dean said decisively, “ _You_ are not going to your classes tomorrow. Do you have any loose ends or money stuff to take care of?” 

Charlie shook her head. “When mom --,” she swallowed thickly, “when _the accident_ happened, everything was already changed to my name so I could keep paying for school and insurance and all that stuff.”

“Good,” Dean said, standing up and pulling Charlie up with him, “You and I are going to do some serious binge-watching tonight. I’m thinking Legend of the Seeker. You know, sexy ladies, a fantasy setting, and inexplicable accents are exactly what you need right now.”

Charlie gave Dean a small smile, shaking her head affectionately. “You just like that Richard spends a lot of time shirtless.” Dean blushed at Charlie’s comment. Charlie had figured out early on in their friendship that Dean wasn’t _exclusively_ interested in women. One time when she was looking for her lost homework (that she swore up and down she had done in Dean’s room, even though they never got any studying done in his room), she had found his _other_ stash of porn. She said she had pieced it together already, and Dean wasn’t as subtle as he thought he was.

Dean steered her back to the car, and once inside Charlie put on Robyn as their soundtrack on their way back to campus. Charlie belted _Indestructible_ at the top of her lungs, and maybe Dean sung along just a little. Though she was still grieving, the trip out to the woods had lightened her mood somewhat, even if only temporarily. Once back in Dean’s room, Dean piled every blanket from his and Charlie’s beds on his futon couch and put in the first DVD of season 1 of Legend of the Seeker. Despite being one of Charlie’s favorite shows, she dozed off shortly after Kahlan and Richard met, and Dean took the opportunity to slip out into the hall and call Castiel. 

“Dean, is your friend alright?” Cas asked as he answered the phone, sounding ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice if necessary.

“She lost her mom, Cas,” Dean answered, feeling that prickling behind his nose that came whenever he got emotional. “So, I’m staying with her tonight and as much as possible tomorrow, but I can’t miss my classes. I know y’all are usually done at three on Thursdays, so could you come by tomorrow and just be there for her while I’m in class?” Dean had his Abnormal Psych class at four, and if practice was over by three, Cas should be able to make it to Lawrence just before Dean had to leave for class. 

“I’ll be there, Dean. Take care of your friend tonight and I’ll see you tomorrow.” Cas hung up and Dean breathed out a sigh of relief. A tiny part of Dean had been worried that Cas would say no, despite all signs pointing to Cas never denying Dean anything. There was just always a small seed of doubt when it came to things with Cas, a niggling anxiety that made Dean want to hold back to protect himself. Good things didn’t last for Dean, and part of him braced for the inevitable.

But then again, Cas had become such a solid and sure presence in Dean’s life. He was stubborn and unmovable in personality, and in their relationship, that translated to a reliable emotional anchor when Dean felt like he being pulled under. Dean scowled at his mixed metaphor as he stepped back into his dorm room to find Charlie awake again.

Dean and Charlie spent the rest of the day parked on the couch, binge-watching the first season of the Legend of the Seeker. When it was dinner time, Dean went on a take-out run, and after dinner, he did a little studying while Charlie dozed. From time to time, Charlie would start to cry again, or just need physical comfort, and Dean was more than capable of proving strong arms to hold her and a sturdy shoulder to cry on. 

They fell asleep together on Dean’s couch, Dean’s legs tucked under him, and Charlie’s head in his lap, which Dean found surprisingly comfortable. He woke up at his usual time for a Thursday and slipped out as quietly as possible to eat breakfast and work out. He brought lunch back for both of them, and they debated best fantasy book series through mouthfuls of sandwiches.

“I mean, Lord of the Rings is great, don’t get me wrong, but Tolkien couldn’t have put some more ladies in it? Ugh, it’s just so bro-tastic,” Charlie argued, taking a sizable bite out of her sandwich.

“But Eowyn kills the Witch King! That’s pretty amazing right there,” Dean said.

“OK. One awesome lady in a book series of thousands of awesome men,” Charlie held up her hands mock-defensively, “Excuse me.” 

After lunch, Dean finished up his assignment while Charlie napped until Cas arrived at 3:30. Dean went down to the lobby to let Cas in, and while they rode up to Dean’s floor in the elevator, he showed Cas his gratitude for staying with Charlie through a judicious application of his mouth and hands. They stepped out of the elevator a little worse for wear (Cas’ hair in particular looked like a lost cause and Dean doubted his shirt would ever be the same) and Charlie gave them a knowing look as they walked in.

“Uh,” Dean blushed when Charlie raised her eyebrows, “Cas is going to stay with you while I’m in class.”

“Good,” Charlie said, looking at Cas like she had already formulated a plan to break him and make him tell her all of his secrets. Dean patted Cas on the shoulder, because Dean had been on the receiving end of that look more than once so he knew resistance was futile. He grabbed his backpack to go to class, and just barely caught himself in time before giving Cas a goodbye kiss.

“I’ll be back in three hours or so,” Dean said gently to Cas before turning to face Charlie, “Charlie, be good.”

\---

Dean got back from class to one of the more surreal moments of his life. He opened the door to Charlie sitting on the couch with Cas cross-legged on the floor as she painted Cas’ fingernails Kansas City Angels blue. 

“Hey guys,” Dean said nervously as he walked back into his room, bracing for impact.

“Dean,” Charlie said innocently, not even looking up from her handiwork, “You didn’t tell me that Cas here was _the_ Castiel Novak.” Dean groaned and dropped his backpack loudly on the ground.

Cas looked confused and opened his mouth to ask a question, but Dean cut him off, answering the question forming in Cas’ mind, “She means I didn’t tell her that you’re a quasi-famous professional football-player.” Cas nodded his understanding as Dean plopped down on the couch next to Charlie, using the opportunity to press his leg against Cas’ side. Cas’ fingernail polish was dry on the hand closest to Dean, so he wrapped it around Dean’s ankle, lightly scratching under Dean’s jeans, while Charlie focused all her attention on Cas’ other hand. 

Once Charlie finished with Cas’ nails, the three of them sat in some version of that configuration, talking and watching TV. Charlie and Cas teamed up from time to time to tease Dean, who would then pout until Cas could slip him a secret touch or discreet wink. When Charlie fell asleep again, Cas came to sit between Dean’s legs on the floor. Dean felt so much more relaxed and comfortable having Cas’ body pressed against his own as he ran his fingers through Cas’ unruly hair, massaging Cas’ scalp. More than once Dean had to remind Cas that Charlie was sleeping because the noises Cas made were borderline obscene and ridiculously loud and nearly woke Charlie up twice.

At nine Cas had to get home to go to bed, so Cas and Dean quietly snuck out of Dean’s dorm room. Dean never would have guessed the a _professional football player_ would have such an early and strict bedtime, but Cas was always going on about how he needed his full eight hours to play his best and he was up between 6 and 7 every morning.  

They walked to the parking lot, hand in hand in the dark to where Cas had parked his car. Despite the comfort Cas provided, Dean still felt like something had bubbled up from deep down inside and pressed now against the back of Dean’s ribs, threatening to break free and overflow. He avoided talking about his family for a reason, and spending two days dealing with loss and grief and dead parents made Dean itch to crawl out of his own skin. He wanted to run away, to leave behind all the feelings that came with thinking about the death of his parents, of John and Mary Winchester, and of their lives cut far too short. 

Dean’s attention shifted when they got to Cas’ hybrid (Dean didn’t really pay attention to the exact model because all cars made after 1979 were pretty much useless as far as Dean was concerned) where Cas’d parked it next to the Impala in the McCollum parking lot. 

“I see you got a good spot,” Dean teased, his hand still in Castiel’s, indicating the space next to him Impala. Cas’ touch and presence seemed to have a calming effect the turmoil of his emotions, but Dean still worried about what would happen if he finally told Cas the whole sordid tale. 

Cas smiled at Dean. “The Impala _is_ beautiful, Dean. You take very good care of it.”

“ _Her_ , Cas. I take very good care of _her_ ,” Dean corrected, rolling his eyes.

Cas squinted at Dean, “Cars don’t have gender. Why are you calling it ‘her’?”

“It’s a thing. It’s just what you do, Cas.” Dean said, exasperated, though he caught a hint of a smile from Cas. “You were just riling me up weren’t you?” Cas just laughed at Dean, and if they had been anywhere but a parking lot, Dean would have tackled Cas.

Dean’s mirth dried up and he coughed, looking at anything but Cas. “She was my dad’s,” Dean provided suddenly. “She was always supposed to come to me eventually, but I got her a little sooner than I expected.”

“Ah,” Cas said sympathetically, “When you lost your parents.”

Dean breathed a quiet _yeah_ and chewed on his lip nervously. He leaned against his Baby, and between the feeling of Cas’ hand in his and the familiar curves of the Impala at his back, the jackhammering pulse of his heart quieted slightly.

“My mom died not too long after I turned eighteen. Sam was only fourteen. My mother --,” Dean swallowed thickly, “ _Mom_ was a detective, and she was shot on duty.” Cas rubbed his thumb over Dean’s knuckles encouragingly. 

“And your dad?”

“Few months later, Dad went, too. He went looking for revenge and never came home,” Dean said bitterly, absently kicking a piece of loose asphalt, “Dad, he, uh, well, he came back from the war and was never really right.” John had come home from the Persian Gulf War a mess, full of shrapnel from a Scud missile attack and untreated PTSD, but Cas didn’t need to know all that. Hell, Dean hadn’t even known who his father was before the war. During the worst moments in his parents’ marriage, Dean had pulled Sammy in his bed, desperately trying to keep out the shouts from down the hall. Dean would play with Sam until Sam fell asleep and then would wonder what his dad was like _before_. He imagined a kinder, softer man who wasn’t a burden to his wife, who was proud of Dean for doing what he loved, and who didn’t jump every time Sam’s pop gun went off. Dean reasoned that John _tried_ to do the best by his family, but he always had a hard time reconciling that idea of John with reality. 

Dean continued emphatically, “My mother was everything to me, Cas. She’s the one who got me into gymnastics and cheerleading. She taught me how to be tough, how to shoot, how to bake, the best way to take down harassers …” 

Dean trailed off before recollecting himself, fighting back the lump lodged in his throat, “Dad wanted me to be like him, play football, go into the military, work at the garage; but she always encouraged me to be whoever _I_ wanted to be.” Dean remembered the shouting matches that resulted from that particular conflict, the terrible names his dad had called him when he didn’t think Dean could hear, and the snide remarks at the dinner table after days of bullying: _If you’d’ve played football instead of cheering, you wouldn’t have this problem_. 

Dean suddenly felt exposed and vulnerable, like everyone from his dorm was listening in on his conversation, like they were all judging his sob story. Why were they were having this conversation in a _fucking parking lot_? 

Dean must’ve started to shake, because Cas gently hugged him, running a soothing hand up and down his back. Cas pried Dean’s keys from where Dean gripped them tightly in his hand, the metal of the keys and keychains digging into the flesh of his palm. Cas unlocked the Impala and guided Dean into the backseat, then went around the car to settle in on the other end of the bench seat. Once inside the car, Dean took a few steadying breaths.

“You can stop if you want,” Cas said, placing a hand on Dean’s thigh.

“Nah,” Dean said, once he had collected himself, “Gotta get it all out now or I’ll never be able to.” Dean covered Cas’ hand with his own. He marvelled again at the sheer size of Cas’ hands, hands that were usually reserved for catching balls and sacking quarterbacks, but were now dedicated to comforting and holding Dean.

“Plus,” Dean continued with a shrug, “I wanna tell you.” Cas smiled at that and gave Dean’s thigh a gentle squeeze. Dean took a few moments to draw comfort from Cas’ touch and the old, familiar leather of the Impala’s back seat, before he started up again.

“So,” Dean said as Cas’ hand absently rubbed patterns on Dean’s thigh, “Bobby took us in. He was an old hunting buddy of my dad’s and he’d worked for the police when mom was just a rookie. He’d look after us when we were kids, long before we moved in, like when mom was working and dad was, uh, not really able to.” Dean remembered those times, too, when Mom couldn’t get out of work and John was incapacitated in one way or another and Dean was still too young to look after Sam. When they were at Bobby’s, Dean and Sam’d play hide-and-go-seek in the junkyard even after explicitly being told not to, or would play catch in the park across the street, or would read all of Bobby’s weird books of Japanese poetry and monsters of European folktales and the inner workings of internal combustion engines. 

But those good times at Bobby’s stopped abruptly when they started living there. Bobby’s wasn’t their secret getaway spot anymore; it was the place they had to go because their parents were dead. The junkyard, which was once a place of imagination and adventure, looked more like a graveyard, reminding Dean that his parents were in holes in the ground just outside the city. 

“Cas, I wasn’t right for a long time,” Dean confessed, “I don’t know if I’ll ever be right. Havin’ my mom taken away and my dad decidin’ that revenge was more important than me’n Sam. I was fucked up; hell, I still am fucked up.” 

Dean felt the grief in his belly turning to anger. He laughed hollowly, “I never thought I’d go to college, let alone with a _scholarship_. You know, I tell people it’s all because of cheerleading, because they would never believe I have a partial-academic. Yeah, I’ve got cheerleading money, which gives me a nice stipend so I don’t have to work during the school year, but most of my tuition is covered because someone thinks _I’m_ smart. Can you believe it? The guy with _the dead parents_ and the long string of failed relationships and the emotional constipation, yeah, let’s throw money at _him_.”

Dean turned to stare out the window, unable to meet Cas’ eyes. “When they died, I almost lost it all. My first semester was only two months after Dad was gone, and I,” Dean paused, looking for the right words, “and I was so _lost_ and _confused_ and just plain _fucked up_ that I almost flushed it all down the fucking drain, Cas.”

Cas put his hands on Dean’s face, using his thumbs to wipe away Dean’s tears. Dean didn’t know when he had started crying, but he leaned into Cas’ support. Cas kissed him, a sob racking Dean’s body as Cas gently worked his mouth open. Dean had never understood how Castiel Novak, one of the most frankly _inhuman_ -acting football players Dean’d ever seen, could treat him with such compassion and tenderness. Each gentle kiss made a little more of Dean’s pain melt away. 

Cas pulled his lips away, but rested his forehead on Dean’s. “I’ve never had anyone I enjoyed talking to more than you. I’ve never met anyone as beautiful and caring as you. I’ve never had a friend and companion I could rely on like I can rely on you. Dean Winchester, you are _not_ fucked up.”

Dean let out a bark of self-deprecating laughter. Even after Cas’ words, Dean still felt raw and open and oozing. And could someone like _Cas_ even mean something like that about _Dean_? “No offense, Cas, but it’s not like you have that large of a sample size.” 

“I have played on a football team since I was a toddler. I attended several middle schools. I played on a college team and a professional team. I have had thousands of people around me in my life, and I _choose_ who I want to interact with. And I want to be with _you_ ,” Cas said with conviction, lightly shaking Dean’s head. Dean worried for a moment that Cas planned on _beating_ Dean into understanding, but he just sighed instead, all the tension leaving his body. Dean felt his head being pulled back toward Cas and kisses planted on his forehead, his eyelids, his nose, his cheek, his jaw, and finally his lips. 

“Dean, you need to go take care of your friend,” Cas said quietly, making his move to leave. Dean let out a small noise of protest and Cas shushed him with another kiss. 

“Call me when you get home?” Dean asked, needing Cas to comfort him as much as Charlie needed Dean. Dean gripped Cas’ forearm tightly, like if he held on hard enough, Cas would never leave him.

“Of course,” Cas answered. He ran his fingers through Dean’s hair and dropped a final goodbye kiss on Dean’s waiting lips. He got out of the Impala and waved, before getting into his own car and driving off. When Dean got back up to his room, Charlie was still asleep, so Dean climbed up the ladder to his own bed, crawled under the blankets and passed out. He only stirred to take Cas’ call, before letting fitful sleep take him.

\---

When Dean woke up the next morning, he felt rubbed raw all over, but also _unburdened_. He had bared his soul to Cas, and instead of recoiling in horror, Cas had told him it was beautiful. He hadn’t canceled their upcoming date or called to tell Dean he didn’t want to see him anymore. Maybe Cas _had_ meant it when he said all those things about choosing Dean and wanting Dean, and even thinking Dean was smart and someone Cas wanted to be around. Dean smiled at the thought, a tentative hope blooming in his chest.

A physical soreness crept into his body from crying and Dean also felt like his eyes were going to fall out his head from sleeping in his contacts. He leaned over his bed to see if Charlie was up, or even still in his room. After blinking a few times to clear his blurry vision, he could see her still swaddled in her million blankets, awake and typing something on her tablet.

“How ya feeling?” He croaked down at her. She shrugged and kept tapping away. 

Dean climbed down from his lofted bed and she looked up at him from her tablet. “You look like shit,” Charlie noted and Dean scowled. He walked over to his sink, ignoring her small chuckle, to finally take out his contacts and put on his glasses. He sank into his couch next to Charlie on the couch, and took a deep breath in. “I told Cas about my folks last night, and I kinda freaked out.”

Charlie nodded and patted him on the knee, before going back to whatever she was doing on her tablet. “So, what’s the plan for today, your highness?” Dean asked, nudging her with his knee.

Charlie smirked at the nickname, “I think I’m going to go to class. I just have the one today, so I think I’m up to it.”

“Good,” Dean agreed.

“What about you?” She asked as she started to gather up her blankets and electronics to move back to her room.

“I’ll be fine,” Dean shot her a half-cocked grin, “I’ve been dealing with this for almost three years now. It just came up suddenly last night, is all.” Charlie dropped her things in a blanket, which she tied up into a bundle. Things packed up, she went over to the couch to wrap her arms around Dean’s shoulders.

“Thank you,” she whispered into his hair, holding him tighter, “I love you.”

He tilted his head back, making eye contact with her and giving her the most serious face he could muster, “I know.” Her face broke into a wide smile and she bounced over to her things to pick up her bundle.

“This doesn’t mean I’m going to go easy on you, now, my little half-elf ranger,” Charlie said, referring to their weekly Dungeons & Dragons campaigns, as she moved toward the door. 

“Fair enough.” Dean shrugged.

“Cas is great guy, Dean,” Charlie said seriously and Dean gave her a soft smile. Her support meant everything to him, and he was so glad that the whole I’m-dating-a-man cat was out of the bag without Dean having to actually tell her. She ducked out of the door, but at the last minute, she stuck her head back in Dean’s room. “You should marry him now and make him sign an ironclad pre-nup,” she teased and popped out of Dean’s room. Dean rolled his eyes and dragged his hand across his face. He was never going to hear the end of this.


	8. Chapter 8

By the night of their first date (or The Big Date, as Dean had been calling it in his head), Cas still hadn’t given him any clues about his plans other than instructions to be in Mission Hills at four-thirty and to _look nice_. Dean, of course, spent the week leading up to the date focusing on -- and stressing out about -- what exactly Cas meant by _look nice_ and what activities he would need to _look nice_ for. Since Cas repeatedly refused to spoil the surprise, Dean had to resort to using his knowledge of Cas’ schedule and tendencies, as well as blind guessing, to narrow down the possibilities. 

First of all, they probably weren’t going to be out all night since Cas had to be up early on Saturday for [the pre-game practice and run-through](%20); that easily ruled out all-night clubbing and spontaneous overnight trips. Also, Cas also had a fairly strict diet during the season, so they probably weren’t going to one of those super fancy, avant-garde, molecular gastronomy places for dinner (which Dean was secretly glad about because those places freaked him out). Finally Dean knew that since Cas needed him to _look nice_ , they weren’t going to do anything _too_ physically strenuous, like hang gliding or rock climbing or whatever was passing for trendy dates these days. 

Even after ruling out a few possibilities, Dean still couldn’t help but worry about what to wear. Dean’s wardrobe wasn’t exactly filled to the brim with fancy clothes, but he still tore practically everything out of his closet before finally settling on a charcoal grey suit. Dean had splurged on this particular suit the year before (saving up to get himself something nice for once), and he’d only worn it a handful of carefully selected times. He loved how he looked in suits, but the lack of funds in his bank account prohibited such a lavish expense on a more regular basis. And, as a college student, it wasn’t like his schedule was overflowing with events that required dressing up. 

After picking out the suit, he decided to pair it with a simple white button-down and brown leather loafers, forgoing a tie altogether after going through his entire tie collection and hating all of them. He just hoped his outfit wasnice enough for Cas and whatever he had planned. 

He carefully placed his suit and shirt in his beat up, second-hand garment bag (not wanting it to get wrinkled on the long drive), and threw his shoes on top of the change of clothes he’d packed in his duffel. Dean recently stopped packing toiletries for overnight visits to Cas’, since he’d stashed away a contact case, some saline solution and his preferred hair care products in the master bath a few weekends prior. He also double-checked that his phone charger and glasses were stashed in the side pocket of his duffel before anxiously grabbing his bags and lugging them down to the parking lot.

Dean jiggled his left leg nervously as he drove out of his dorm’s parking lot. He hadn’t been on a date in years, and he hadn’t been exaggerating when he told Cas he hadn’t dated seriously since high school. Plus, _dating a man_ added another level of stress on top of everything else; it’s not like he knew _how_ to date a guy. 

Cas had asked him out, so Dean was pretty sure that meant Cas was paying; even the girls Dean dated in college had paid when they’d asked him out. But that was usually with the understanding that Dean had to do the asking out the next time, and that meant paying. Dean remembered dates being expensive and his savings had already began to dwindle since starting the beginning of the semester. Not to mention the fact that Cas was a fucking zillionaire! There’s no way Dean could ever compete with whatever Cas had planned. Before there was kissing and dating in their relationship, Dean paid for himself when they went to the movies or grabbed a meal, but Cas paid for groceries even if Dean was cooking at Cas’ house. It was simple, and Dean knew the boundaries and parameters of their friendship. 

Dean needed to stop freaking himself out. After all, Cas was new at this, too -- Cas had never dated anyone at all. And Cas kept telling Dean that he _liked_ him, he liked all of the parts of Dean, even the parts that Dean hated about himself. Their whole _intimacy_ thing was really just carry over from their friendship anyway. Dean would have probably told Cas all of his deepest, darkest secrets anyway, even if they had just remained friends. Hell, before Cas had kissed him, Cas probably knew Dean the best of anyone, and they had only known each other for a little over a month at the time. 

Most people who met Cas were put off by his unwavering glares and his tendency to take things a little too literally and his non-sequiturs and his uncanny ability to cut through the bullshit and get to the heart of the matter. But Dean had recognized they were just the outward symptoms of Cas’ intelligence, curiosity, and caring. Where most people would see a humorless stick in mud, Dean saw dry wit and the propensity to tease. And when it came down to Cas’ complicated past with his family, no one understood better than Dean, and Dean hadn’t even gotten the full story yet. Dean recognized something of himself in Cas, and Dean thought it must have been the same for Cas. 

When he pulled up to Cas’ house, all other thoughts shot out of his head when he saw a gleaming convertible ‘68 Corvette sitting in Cas’ driveway. Dark blue with a tan leather interior, Dean had never seen anything so beautiful -- aside from his own ‘67 Impala, of course.

“What do you think?” Cas asked, startling Dean. At some point during Dean’s inspection of the car, Cas had come outside and was now leaning on one of the pillars that made up the alcove around the front door. 

“Is she yours?” Dean asked, awed. He loved his Impala something fierce, but this Corvette was gorgeous.

“Yes, it’s --” 

“ _She_ , Cas, _she_ is,” Dean corrected, caressing the hood. 

“Yes, _she’s_ mine,” Cas rolled his eyes and grinned, “I had a mechanic give _her_ a tune up before our date.”

“So, we’re taking the ‘Vette? Can I drive her?” Dean looked at Cas expectantly.

Cas shook his head, smiling at Dean’s eagerness, “Of course you can.” When Cas was out of earshot, Dean whispered apologies to Baby, even if he was driving Cas’ Corvette that night, as he grabbed his duffel and garment bag from the Impala. Cas let Dean in to his house, holding the door open since Dean’s hands were full. 

“What else do you have squirreled away that I don’t know about in that garage of yours?” Dean asked.

“Just a half-restored Indian and a mid-60s sky-blue Triumph Bonneville,” Cas said, shrugging. 

“Holy shit!” Dean said, eyebrows up at his hairline. Cas laughed at Dean’s enthusiasm as he took Dean’s duffel and led Dean up to the master bedroom to get changed. Dean filled the short walk from the foyer to the bedroom with a million questions about Cas’ collection of vintage vehicles and Cas just answered them all simply with a smile.

It was only when Cas set down Dean’s duffel at the foot of the bed that Dean realized Cas was wearing a pair of ripped jeans and a soft, grey t-shirt. Dean gave him a considering look, wondering for a moment if what he brought was too fancy.

“I’m going to get changed,” Cas answered Dean’s unasked question before walking into his closet. Dean took that as his own cue to also get dressed for their date, as he quickly and clumsily pulled off his own jeans and t-shirt. Just as Dean finished getting ready, two buttons undone on his shirt and his hair artfully mussed, Cas walked out of his bedroom looking like he walked out of an issue of GQ in a dark blue three-piece suit and a white shirt. The vest was perfectly tailored, drawing in to accentuate Cas’ trim waist and broad shoulders, and Dean was starting to reconsider the “going out” part of the evening. 

The whole look was nearly ruined, though, by Castiel’s pathetic frown and untied tie over his unbuttoned vest. “Dean, my tie is being obstinate.”

“Sure, sure,” Dean said, coming over to Cas to fix his tie, “Blame it on the tie.” Castiel scowled as Dean effortlessly tied Cas’ light blue tie in to a double windsor. He pulled the knot up to Cas’ neck and smoothed down the ends. Cas’ hands came up to finish buttoning up his vest, but Dean batted them away, doing up the buttons himself.

“You look very nice, Dean,” Cas said softly. Dean could feel Castiel’s breath ghost over the skin of his cheek and he shivered; he hadn’t realized just how close they had gotten. Dean was about to turn his head for a kiss, when Cas clapped him on the shoulder suddenly.

“We have reservations at five,” Cas announced, “So we should get going.” Dean grumbled his assent and Cas checked to make sure he had his wallet and phone in his suit pockets. Cas patted him on the ass as they left the bedroom and Dean grumbled some more. Cas just winked in response and soon they were out the door and on the way to the restaurant. Being allowed to drive the Corvette _almost_ made up for keeping Dean in the dark and being a cheeky asshole about it. 

Almost.

\---

When they got to the restaurant, they valeted the Corvette and Dean almost let out a whine while Cas dragged him inside. Dean was still grumbling about letting someone else drive the car until they sat down at their white-linen covered table and Dean got a real look at the restaurant Cas had picked. With brick walls and wood beams across a high ceiling, Dean would have guessed that the building had once been a barn, if it weren’t for the fact that it was located in the middle of Kansas City. The dining area was dimly lit with beautiful modern chandeliers and a massive fireplace dominated the far end. It was a little hipper than Dean expected, but still fancier than anything Dean would have picked on his own.

Dean didn’t have long to contemplate the restaurant before their waiter came by to take their drink orders. When the waiter appeared, Dean felt himself wince a little; he tried not to be so outwardly uncomfortable, but whenever he was in public with Cas he felt like the rest of the world was watching and judging. Dean knew Cas would say he was paranoid, but Dean could swear he felt eyes on the back of his neck every time he smiled at Cas. Despite Cas’ calm reassurances (and his foot hooked around the back of Dean’s calf), Dean still wasn’t sure he was one hundred percent on board with being seen _out_ with a _man_ , and it made him feel incredibly guilty.

After the waiter brought drinks -- a soda for Dean and water for Cas -- and took their dinner orders, Cas quickly launched into a discussion on faster than light travel, specifically whether the technology will ever be attainable and which TV show dealt with interstellar travel best. Dean was surprised how natural the conversation flowed after that, their debate taking his mind off his feelings of exposure. Every other date he had been on, he had been unsure of what to say or how to impress. But, then again, he hadn’t really known those people like he knew Cas. On previous dates, he would have been afraid to bring up these sorts of nerdy things -- after all, sci-fi TV isn’t really _cool_ conversation. So, he often would let his date talk and he would be bored out of his mind. Instead, with Cas, he was so invested in proving Cas wrong that he was seconds away from pinching Cas under the table when their food arrived.

Cas had ordered the Pasta Trio with a Ceasar salad, because loading up on carbs before a game was crucial (and Cas ate like a horse) and Dean landed on the Osso Buco after being unable to make up his mind, and sort of closing his eyes and pointing. Their conversation died down as they ate, but halfway through their meal Cas pointedly put his silverware down on his plate (“ _Dean_ , you don’t put _dirty silverware_ on the linens!”) and crossed his hands in front of him. He was wearing one of his more contemplative looks, which could indicate that Cas was thinking about anything from how to end global poverty to domestic economic policy to why there are still a million CSI’s on the air. 

“Dean,” Cas said seriously and Dean put down his own silverware, “Am I still a virgin?”

“What?!” Dean yelped. He was glad Cas had waited to ask that question until _after_ Dean had finished chewing and swallowing. Otherwise, someone would have had to dislodge his bite of braised pork from Dean’s throat. Dean _did_ draw a few glares for his startled cry, and he quickly apologized before turning back to Castiel.

Cas stared at Dean petulantly, as if Dean’s outburst had never happened. “I mean, we’ve both achieved orgasm through manual stimulation --”

“Shhh. Not so loud, man. There are families here,” Dean sputtered, blushing furiously. Dean ran the palm of his hand over his face and took in a deep steadying breath. Castiel leaned in closer to Dean.

“So even though _you_ ’ve brought me to orgasm, am I still technically a virgin?” Cas stage whispered, barely quieter than before. Cas practically Emily Post when it came to dining etiquette, but didn’t realize the intricacies of virginity wasn’t proper dinner conversation.

Dean sighed, “I dunno, man. Usually the rules of that sort of thing are more concerned with keeping women pure or some shit, and when chicks and dudes bang, not dudes and dudes.” When Dean had teased Cas back in July about being a virgin, he was less concerned with the notion of virginity, and more worried that Cas had missed an important developmental milestone. 

“So what do you think, Cas?” Dean turned it back around on Castiel; this tactic was usually successful when Dean had no idea how to answer one of Cas’ questions. Cas furrowed his brows and somehow managed to deepen his look of concentration.

“I’m not really sure,” Cas answered after resuming eating his enormous plate of pasta, “I don’t think being a virgin or the idea of virginity really mattered to me before, and I’m not sure it matters to me now either. _You_ were the one so preoccupied with it.” Cas gave Dean a smug closed mouth grin and dug back into his meal.

Dean huffed and started eating again, too. He was already flushed and sweaty just from Cas mentioning sex, and his traitorous mind readily supplied him with all sorts of filthy images of him and Castiel. Cas’ little concentrated frown and purposeful touches during handjobs had already skyrocketed to the top of Dean’s spank bank material, and their few forays into frottage had completely opened Dean’s mind to all sorts of new possibilities. 

But did Cas bring up his virginity because he was unsatisfied? Did he want something Dean wasn’t providing? Dean shuffled in his seat, a feeling of dread washing over him.

“Are you,” Dean cleared his throat, leaning across the table to whisper, “ _unhappy with our sex life_?” He felt his blush creeping up his neck, the tips of his ears burning in embarrassment. He couldn’t believe he was having this conversation with someone he’d only had sex with a handful of times. In a restaurant. Where families were eating not five feet from them. 

“No,” Cas said, arching an eyebrow and shooting a heated look at Dean, “But I wouldn’t be adverse to trying new things.” Cas arched his eyebrow suggestively, and Dean’s mind immediately filled with all the _new things_ they could do, and a lot of them involved Cas only wearing that look he was giving Dean. With that look, Cas’d might have well announced to the whole restaurant that he wanted Dean and he had thought long and hard how to get him.

Dean swallowed thickly, willing his voice not to crack, “OK, uh, I mean, me either.”

“Good,” Cas said casually, “I’ll remember that for next time.”

Well, there went any hope of Dean not popping an inappropriate boner in a public place. Cas’ big brain filing away things for the future always meant trouble for Dean. Cas saying he would remember something wasn’t just conversation; it was a promise. 

Dean liked that about Castiel -- mostly. Cas was smart and engaged, and that meant he didn’t ever have to remind Cas of things. However, it most often translated to Cas getting spoiled and Dean getting sore, like the previous week when Cas wheedled Dean into looking at the kitchen sink plumbing. Three days later, there was still a fucking leak and Dean had bruises from being pressed into the cabinets as Cas jacked him off. And Dean was the one who had to clean up the mess, too!

The rest of the dinner passed with less explicit conversation and a kind of casual intimacy that was so unlike any other date Dean had ever had. Cas pressed his leg against Dean’s from time to time under the table or gently touched Dean’s arm when they were talking. Dean smiled and blushed at these small touches, and after they ordered dessert, Dean held Cas’ hand where it rested on Dean’s thigh under the table. Dean felt himself forgetting his paranoia and uncertainty, and letting himself really _enjoy_ his date with Cas, over the course of their meal together. 

Castiel took the check from the waiter before he could even put it on the table, paying for dinner while they ate dessert. Dean only put up a small token protest about Cas paying before Cas squashed it with a glare. 

“Okay, but next time, I’m taking you out,” Dean said and Castiel’s look softened.

“Your terms are acceptable,” Cas said as the waiter came back with the check and Cas savored his tiramisu, wrapping his lips and tongue around his spoon in this filthiest way with each bite. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry as they finished up dessert, so Dean was back to square one, having no idea about Cas’ plans for the rest of the evening, though with the addition of being painfully aroused.

Cas finished up his dessert unaware of Dean’s discomfort -- licking the whipped cream from the plate to Dean’s continued sexual frustration -- before ushering Dean out of the restaurant. As they waited for the valet to bring back the car, Dean asked, “So is this it? Or did you have something else planned?” 

“We’re going to the Kauffman Center,” Cas answered simply and Dean’s mind whirred. The Kauffman Center meant some kind of performance, but that could mean anything from a rock concert to a touring musical production.

“Huh,” Dean said distractedly. Cas took the keys from the valet when he pulled the car up, giving the poor teenager a generous tip, and led Dean to the passenger’s side of the car. The drive was only a few minutes and when they pulled up to the Kauffman Center, Dean saw a banner advertising that night’s show and finally pieced it all together.

“Ballet?” Dean asked, a little breathless. Cas cursed as he navigated the Friday night traffic, but Dean completely tuned him out.

When Dean and Cas had first started hanging out back in July, they had seen an ad on TV for the new season at the Kansas City Ballet. Transfixed by the clips of dancing on the screen, Dean knew he had given himself away, but Cas just gave him a look of interest rather than judgement. Dean had confessed that he had wanted so badly to take ballet classes as a kid, but it had been hard enough to convince John to let him do gymnastics, and he hadn’t wanted to test the bounds of John’s patience. Even as a child, Dean knew he had to push down that desire since there was no way that his dad would see ballet as an appropriate way for a _boy_ to spend his time. Even without his father’s approval, he kindled a small interest in dance throughout his adolescence, sharing an occasional _pas de deux_ with his mom when Sam and John were out, buying _Dirty Dancing_ and _Black Swan_ on DVD (hidden in the back of his underwear drawer), and attending every dance performance at KU since he was a freshman. 

When he had whispered his secret love of ballet to Cas in his dorm room all those months ago, he hadn’t known like he knew now that Cas would file that knowledge away and use it like _this_. 

“Thank you, Cas,” Dean said, emotion thick in his voice. Dean wasn’t even ashamed to admit that he was practically vibrating with anticipation in his seat. 

“You don’t even know what we’re seeing yet,” Cas teased, and Dean looked at him seriously.

“It doesn’t really matter at this point,” Dean said honestly, “This, uh, this means a lot to me, Cas.”

They valeted the car again, but Dean could handle the separation anxiety knowing where Cas was leading him. He was kind of dazed, standing in the lobby while Cas picked up their tickets from will call. The last time he had been here, his mother had taken him as part of his sixteenth birthday present. He remembered how out of place he felt, wearing a suit that didn’t quite fit, surrounded by the upper crust of Kansas City in their furs and pearls, and by underdressed college students in jeans and t-shirts. 

They had seen Giselle, a ballet about a woman who was caught up in a love triangle and died of a broken heart. In death, she joined some vengeful fairies whose job it is to kill men who treat women poorly. Dean’s favorite part was when the fairies, called the Willis, danced their graceful arabesques as they floated across the stage. 

He was pulled out his reverie by Cas, who put a ticket and program in his waiting hand.  

“Fancy Free?” Dean read from his ticket and looked at his program. There were three leaping sailors on the front, but that didn’t tell Dean anything about the plot.

As Cas led Dean through the lobby, past the ticket-takers to their seats, he explained the ballet, “It’s about three sailors on leave in New York in the forties. They made it into a musical called ‘On the Town,’ and then a movie with Gene Kelly.”

“‘On the Town’?” Dean echoed. Dean’s favorite movies were anything Harrison Ford and the odd numbered Star Trek movies, but he occasionally indulged in classic films. When it came to the classics, Dean’s list began and ended with the two Kellys: Gene and Grace. “We’re seeing ‘On the Town’ the ballet?”

“Well, the ballet came first,” Cas corrected. They got settled in their seats and Cas began to leaf through the program before the show started. Dean turned off his phone (and prodded Cas to do the same) before taking in the grandeur of the performance hall and running his hands over the velvet of their seats. Occasionally Cas read something from the program, or explain the history and architecture of the building, or complain about the lack of public funding for the arts, and Dean would sit transfixed, buzzing with excitement for the whole experience.

As the house lights finally came down and the overture started, Dean slipped his hand into Cas’.

“Best date ever,” Dean whispered to Cas as the overture started.

“It’s not even over yet,” Cas whispered back loudly, squinting at Dean. Cas still hadn’t figured out whispering that wasn’t as loud as regular talking. Dean shushed him and gave his hand a squeeze. The curtain went up and dancers in sailor uniforms came out and Dean only let go of Cas’ hand during the intermission.

\---

Dean had been having dreams of sexy ballet dancer Cas in a sailor uniform when he was unceremoniously woken by Cas throwing a pillow in his face.

“What the hell, Cas?” Dean spluttered, as a wild-looking, half-asleep Castiel leaned over him to grab Dean’s phone. Cas grunted, pushing Dean’s cellphone in his face, and Dean put on his glasses before squinting at the screen in the dark -- it was Bobby calling. Dean’s stomach did a nervous flip as all of the worst things he could think of flashed through his mind. 

He answered the phone, shaking, and quickly got as much information as possible from a brusque and tired Bobby. Once he disconnected the call, he threw off Cas’ duvet and started pulling on his jeans and t-shirt from the day before.

“Dean,” Cas said, voice hoarse from sleep, “What’s wrong?”

“I gotta go, Cas,” Dean roughly ran his fingers through his hair, before bending over to grab his bunched-up socks from where they had rolled under the bed.

“Is someone hurt?” Cas asked, more alert now.

“No,” Dean sighed, “It’s not like that, but I should go. I -- I should be there.” Dean almost had all of his things together (all he had left was to put in his contacts), when Cas grabbed his hand.

“Dean, stop,” Cas said, pulling Dean down on to the bed, “You’re scaring me. Tell me what’s wrong.” Dean slumped on the bed and dropped his head in his hands, pushing his glasses up to his forehead. Cas placed his wide palm on Dean’s back, and Dean leaned into the touch. He felt like Cas’ hand was the only thing holding him together at that moment. 

“It’s Sam,” Dean started, drawing in a shaky breath, “he, uh, got picked up by the cops for public intoxication.” Dean turned around so he was sitting cross-legged on the bed facing Cas.

“Oh,” Cas let out a sigh of relief. Dean could tell Cas was pleased that no one was hurt or dying, but Sam in trouble with the law was almost as bad. “Is he okay? Will you need a lawyer?” Dean could see the wheels in Cas’ head turning. Finding a lawyer to represent Sam would have been a piece of cake for someone with resources like Castiel.

“Nah,” Dean waved him off, “You know my mom and Bobby used to be cops, so the officer -- Rufus Turner’s his name -- he let Sam and his _girlfriend_ off with a warning.” Dean scoffed at the mention of Sam’s girlfriend. Since the school year had started, every conversation with Sam had mentioned this girl _Ruby_ , a senior at Sam’s school. Sam had talked about how smart and witty and beautiful she was, how great it was that a senior was interested in him. Dean, however, wasn’t so convinced. He remembered her hanging with a rough crowd when she was a freshman, and Dean was pretty sure she hadn’t changed over the last three years. 

“I take it you don’t approve of his girlfriend,” Cas said, picking up on Dean’s discomfort.

“She’s a mess and she’s trouble and I wanna blame her for everything that’s wrong with Sammy, but I know that’s not right because he’s been looking for ways to act out since mom and dad died,” Dean confessed all in one breath. Before Ruby, Sam’s little rebellions had manifested in running away and hiding from Dean and Bobby, pretending like he didn’t even have a brother at all around his friends, and pushing his feelings so deep down that he would explode when prodded. Dean had tried to do as much as possible for Sam in the beginning, but he had had his own feelings to work through and his own busy college schedule of too many classes and too many cheer practices and too many parties that ended with him blackout drunk.

Cas rubbed his hand up and down Dean’s forearm, trying to provide physical comfort. “Everyone handles grief differently. It will take him time to be --” Cas started.

“To be what, Cas?” Dean snapped, desperate and angry, “Normal again? We’re never gonna be normal again. Our family is _broken_! Did you know that mom’s folks were still alive? And they didn’t want us! How crazy is that? If it weren’t for Bobby, we’d’ve had to go into foster care and I’d’ve had to quit school! And even now, I’m just pretending like everything’s fine and going to college when I should be at home making sure Sammy’s life isn’t falling apart.” Dean gripped and pulled at his hair. This was all Dean’s fault; he had gotten too complacent with Cas. He had been neglecting his family and everything was spiraling out of control. This wouldn’t have happened if he had stayed at home and not have gone to college.

“Stop, Dean,” Cas said as if he could hear Dean’s whirring thoughts, “Not everything is your responsibility.” Cas was on his knees in front of Dean, gently pulling Dean’s hands from where they were fisted in his hair. He kissed each of Dean’s fingers as he loosed their grip, setting Dean’s hands gently in his lap when he was done. He put his hands on either side of Dean’s face, cupping his jaw and forcing him to look up at Cas.

“But Sam --” Dean croaked before he was cut off with a finger to his lips.

“Maybe this will be a wakeup call for him. Maybe it won’t. And maybe this event won’t make a difference until years later. But I _know_ that he probably feels horrible and Bobby is surely disciplining him right now?” Cas asked and Dean nodded slowly, “So I doubt Sam needs you to come in and yell at him and make him feel worse.”

“I should be there, though. I should go,” Dean protested weakly, but Cas was already pulling Dean’s t-shirt over his head and off. Once it was off, Cas gave Dean another kiss, this one more heated, probing Dean’s mouth with his tongue. After kissing for a few minutes, Dean pulled back to speak, but Cas cut him off before he could say anything.

“Dean Winchester,” Cas said, pulling Dean up to his knees as well so he could look Dean straight in the eyes. He looked stormy and every bit the fierce cornerback Dean knew he could be, “If you leave this house, I will, … uh, well, I’ll be very upset.”

Dean chuckled as Cas trailed off, “Not so good on ultimatums there, huh?”

“Shh. You aren’t needed there. Go see your brother in the morning.” Cas undid the button on Dean’s jeans and helped pull them down over Dean’s naked hips; Dean hadn’t bothered with underwear when he was frantically getting dressed. Dean shuffled so he could get his legs free of his jeans and Dean rearranged himself so he was tucked against Cas’ side under the duvet.

Cas ran his fingers through Dean’s hair. “He might even be hungover tomorrow and won’t it be fun to tease him?”

“Hmm. I guess you’re right.” Dean said, turning to nuzzle Cas’ collarbone. “I’m never gonna fall back asleep. We could do something else instead.” Dean looked up at Cas through his lashes.

Cas pulled his arm out from under Dean, “Well, if you’re not going to sleep, you can _not-sleep_ on your side.” He pushed Dean to put some space between them. Cas couldn’t fall asleep if Dean was wrapped around him, though he usually found his way over to Dean’s side of the bed most nights they slept together.

“Come on, Cas,” Dean said, crossing to Cas’ side and throwing an arm over his torso, “Keep me company while I can’t sleep.” Dean trailed his hand suggestively down Cas’ torso. 

Cas caught his hand, “[Encroachment](%20). Penalty assessed from the point of the foul. Player must go to his side of the bed and let his boyfriend sleep.” Cas tucked Dean back into Dean’s side and kissed his temple as Dean grumbled.

“You and I both know that’s not how encroachment works.”

“Everything’s going to be okay, Dean. Just get some sleep,” Cas patted him on the butt before rolling over and falling asleep almost instantly. Dean’s mind raced for a few minutes before he followed Cas into a restless night of sleep.

 


	9. Chapter 9

The next morning was a mad dash to get out of the house on time for Cas’ pre-game run through, but Dean was groggy and completely useless when it came to getting ready in a timely manner. He had hardly slept the night before, spending the whole night instead dreading getting to Bobby’s and facing the mess that surely was awaiting him. He knew that he had a shouting match ahead of him and he just wished he could fast forward in time to the point when all of this was over. 

Cas pushed him out the door with a kiss and a “talk to you tonight,” but even with the affection from Cas, Dean was hardly able to focus on the road all the way back to Lawrence. Bobby had given him the least amount of detail possible about what happened to Sam (though being yanked out of sleep by cops at the door doesn’t tend to put Bobby in the chatty mood), so Dean wasn’t sure what he was going home to. He imagined Sam would be surly and angry -- and probably hungover -- and Bobby would be gruff and taciturn and Dean would be the one to crack under the pressure and light the powder keg of repressed emotion and old baggage.

As he pulled into Singer Salvage, the air was still like the calm before the storm, or the whole world was holding its breath, or some other flowery metaphor that meant Dean was about to walk into a disaster waiting to happen. When he cut off the engine to the Impala, he even wanted to yell “Fire in the hole!” to make sure no one got caught up in the blastwave. 

He steeled himself as he walked into the house, and immediately sought out Bobby where he was stationed in the kitchen, already dressed for the day, drinking coffee and staring out the window at the garage as his employees arrived. Bobby also looked like he had been through the wringer the night before, bags under his eyes and brow creased in worry. Bobby wasn’t their father, but he loved Sam and Dean like they were his own, and Dean could only imagine how Bobby’s heart must’ve stopped when Rufus called about Sam, how his mind must’ve jumped like Dean’s to the worst possible scenario, how devastated he must’ve felt.

“Bobby, where is he?” Dean asked, poised to fly up the stairs to Sam’s room the instant he got the go-ahead.

“Hold your horses,” Bobby said, not even looking at Dean, “I already chewed him out good and proper, so you can just sit down and wait for him to wake up on his own.” Dean threw himself bonelessly into a kitchen chair and Bobby joined him at the table.

“What _happened_?!” Dean couldn’t believe his genius, nerdy, perfect little brother had been so stupid to have been drinking. And to have been caught, too! Dean had done his fair share of underage drinking, but it had always been confined to someone else’s basement or backyard. And while he hadn’t been as discrete as he probably thought he was (an instance of being caught shitfaced in Ash’s basement sprung to mind), the people he drank with never put themselves in a situation where the police would get involved.

“They picked him up at the park,” Bobby answered in a strained monotone. “He was with a group of people. Most of ‘em got away before the cops got ‘em, but Sam and Ruby weren’t so lucky.” Dean looked stricken. Sitting at the kitchen table, he spun out every terrible inevitability of the path Sam was going down in his mind: Sam getting into gang activity and drugs, not going to college, knocking some chick up and cooking meth to make ends meet, --

“Stop that,” Bobby shook Dean by the shoulder, “I know what’s goin’ on in that head of yours, and you need to cut that out right now. Sam’s fine and he’s gonna be fine, and imagining whatever horrible thing you’re thinkin’ of isn’t going to do jack squat.” Bobby was right, but Dean couldn’t help but worrying.

“How bad was it?” Dean asked instead, feigning calm as he got up to get himself a cup of coffee. He hoped Bobby wasn’t looking too closely, though, because the shaking of Dean’s hands would give him away in a heartbeat.

“He was drunker than a skunk,” Bobby said with a sigh, “And he’ll probably be hungover, but he wasn’t in any danger of pukin’ or passin’ out.” Dean filled his coffee cup and took up the position he found Bobby in, staring out the window as he sipped from his mug.

After a few minutes of tense silence, Dean said solemnly, “Bobby this is all my fault.”

“Now why would you go and say such a stupid thing like that?” Bobby stared at Dean incredulously. 

“If I had been here, if I had been around --” Dean started, looking anywhere but Bobby.

“Now, lookit here, boy,” Bobby got up to stand directly in front of Dean and look him in the eye, “Sam’s gonna do what he wants, just like you’re gonna do what you want. No amount of bein’ here or not being’ here is or ever was gonna change that. You’ve got your own life and he’s got his. You’re not responsible for the stupid shit he does, and he’s not responsible for your crazy-ass decisions. Now let’s eat some goddamn breakfast.” Bobby finished his spiel by pulling out a carton of eggs and shoving it into Dean’s arms. He started pulling out other ingredients, while Dean pulled out a frying pan and tried to stay out of Bobby’s way.

“And it’s not like he’s the first Winchester to get his ass hauled home by the police.”

“Bobby --,” Dean pleaded, cracking eggs into the pan.

“I mean, breaking in to Lawrence High to steal their mascot’s costume. For a _bonfire_. That ranks pretty high up on the stupid shit scale.” Bobby grinned.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Dean said into his mug as he scrambled their eggs. He could feel the flush in the tips of his ears.

“And if that amount of stupidity, not to mention the fact that breakin’ and enterin’ ain’t exactly legal, didn’t keep you from goin’ to college and meetin’ _someone_ ,” Dean groaned at the reference to Cas, “Sam’ll be just fine, too.” Dean considered what Bobby said as he grabbed two plates from a nearby cabinet and dumped onto them. Instead of being fucked up with grief and loss, maybe Sam was just being a stupid teenager. Dean _had_ done a lot of stupid stuff when he was Sam’s age: getting into fights, getting caught by his girlfriend in the janitor’s closet with another girl, driving to Dallas for a concert without telling his parents, this list goes on.

And Sam wasn’t like Dean; this was Sam’s first real foray into doing stupid shit beyond the usual moody teenager act. And really, it was kind of funny to Dean as he gained more perspective. Sam, the overachiever of the family, had to go straight for good kid to drunk in the park, bypassing the classic skip-third-period to make out with someone behind the bleachers, theatre hopping, and staying out past curfew.

“Speak of the devil,” Bobby took a plate from Dean as Sam stumbled into the kitchen in a t-shirt and plaid flannel pajama bottoms.

“Mornin’ Sleeping Beauty.” Dean shot Sam a toothy grin and Sam shot Dean the bird.

“Have fun last night?” Dean asked cheekily and Sam rolled his eyes.

Sam plopped into the chair at the kitchen table, buried his head in his arms and groaned. “Why do people do that for fun?” 

“Now, who wants bacon?” Bobby asked loudly as he plopped several fat strips of bacon in the pan Dean had just used to make eggs, making Sam flinch and throw his hands up to cover his ears. Dean laughed as Sam stood up, slightly wobbling as he did so, pronounced that he needed to go lie down and took over the couch with his insanely long limbs.

“See, he’ll be okay,” Bobby said softly to Dean when Sam was out of earshot. Dean looked at Sam sprawled out, arm thrown over his eyes to block out the sun shining through the windows. Despite Dean’s earlier trepidations, this Saturday morning had ended up being like just about any other Saturday morning: Bobby and Dean cooking breakfast and Sam laying around being useless.

Bobby and Sam both occupied, Dean took the brief chance to send Cas a text:

_All clear. No major incidents_.

Cas wouldn’t check his phone for hours, but just sending the message made Dean warm all over. When Cas was done with his run-through, he’d see the message, probably smile softly --the smile he reserved just for Dean -- and shoot off something between a congratulations and an anthropological discussion of fraternal relations. 

“Stop your goofy grinnin’ and get over to help me finish cookin’ breakfast!” Bobby interrupted Dean’s fantasy, and Dean put away his phone.

\---

The rest of the weekend flew by and before Dean knew it, five days had already passed since Sam’s brush with the law. Rufus and Bobby still had their weekly Saturday poker night, Cas shut down the Texans’ running game on Sunday Night Football, and on Monday morning, Sam went back to school like his weekend had been filled with studying and reading, instead of drunken, public escapades. By Wednesday, it looked like Dean’s life was actually back on track, the weekend having only been a tiny delay instead of a full derailment.

Wednesdays were always busy days for Dean, and this particular Wednesday was no exception. Like every other Wednesday in the recent past, he woke up naked with his own personal heater in the form of a six-foot tall football player snoring softly next to him. In the first moments of consciousness, he always tried to figure out a way he could wake up to Cas every morning, even when Cas was sprawled across the giant bed, leaving only a sliver for Dean, or hogging all of the duvet. But Dean could never dwell too long on imagining a world where Cas didn’t live almost an hour away and Dean didn’t have so many school commitments. Cas had early practice to get to, and Dean had to get back to KU to do his own work out before his Kinesiology class at noon. 

When Cas’ alarm went off, Dean practically had to push Cas out of bed and into the shower. Dean had been expressly forbidden from _joining_ Cas in the shower due to an incident a few weeks prior when Dean had gotten a little handsy and made them both late. Cas blamed Dean for coming into the shower in the first place, but Dean knew it was Cas’ fault for turning a quick handjob into something luxurious and decadent. Cas was the one who had slicked up his cock with one of his froofy bath products, held Dean’s hips tightly and thrusted between Dean’s thighs. Dean had just been along for the ride, blushing profusely (and coming surprisingly hard and fast) at the time, though the memory had quickly shot up to the top of Dean’s masturbatory fantasies. Especially the low groan Cas let out when he first pushed between Dean’s thighs and Dean wrapped a hand around himself. Or the feeling of the head of Cas’ dick as it dragged across Dean’s perineum. Or the way that feeling Cas’ come against the back of Dean’s balls had set off Dean’s own orgasm. Dean thought it was totally worth being late, though Cas must’ve gotten chewed out a little, the way he put an end to shared showers on Wednesday mornings.

  
So instead of getting to enjoy a naked and wet Cas, Dean had to stay in the bedroom and pack up his duffel while Cas warbled off key in the shower. Dean only stepped into the bathroom at all to give Cas a quick peck on the cheek when he said goodbye -- though he wished he could have ripped off Cas’ towel and swallowed Cas down right there on the tiled bathroom floor -- before making his way back to Lawrence.

After getting to campus, he and Benny did their usual Wednesday morning workout, ate breakfast, and only parted to go to their afternoon classes. Cheerleading practice started promptly at three, which gave Dean a little over an hour after of his Exercise Physiology class to bike back to his dorm and get ready for cheerleading practice. He liked to take this hour to call Sam and Bobby, mostly because he always had a reason to cut the conversation short if, for instance, Bobby started asking about Cas or Sam started to drone on about Ruby or basketball practice or how interesting AP chem was. Dean was, of course, interested in Sam’s life and classes, but there was only so many times he could hear about dribbling drills and chemical compounds before his head started to ache. 

During this particular midweek phone call, Sam made sure to change the subject if his weekend activities were brought up, and it was clear that there was no chance in Hell Sam was ever going to have a repeat performance of stumbling around the park drunk. Sam felt horrible about the whole incident -- the brutal hangover and the humiliation of being picked up by Rufus (Sam had turned scarlet and looked like he was about to cry when Bobby had relayed that story in great detail during breakfast) were probably all the disincentive Sam really needed to never act out again. Also, unsurprisingly, Bobby grounded him for a month, which Sam agreed was more than fair. 

Dean didn’t know if Sam was still seeing Ruby after their run in with the cops, despite the strain that this incident had put on their relationship, Sam was still smitten as ever. Sam still briefly mentioned her though this time, it was less about how _amazing_ and _radiant_ she was (“Seriously, Sam? Radiant?”) and more despondent sighs as if he was unsure as to where he stood with her. 

Dean desperately wanted to chalk up Sam’s feelings for Ruby to ‘the heart wants what the heart wants’ and then silently hoped that Ruby would find someone else’s heart to play with. Dean was mostly glad that Ruby’s influence seemed to stop at alcohol (Bobby told Dean that Sam’s grades were as good as ever and the kid wasn’t mouthing off -- at least any more than usual), but he was still mentally counting down the days until Ruby graduated or just left school and left Sam alone. 

Dean wanted to tell Sam that he hated the bitch for messing with Sam’s emotions, but Sam still seemed to genuinely like her, so he kept his mouth shut and tried give Sam the best advice he could about open communication and being honest. Sam being grounded didn’t give them a ton of options, but just the advice seemed to pull Sam out of his lovelorn funk -- at least enough for him to start teasing Dean about Cas.

Sam said he couldn’t help but notice what a _good influence_ Cas had been on Dean, before Bobby got on the extension to ask when the hell Dean was going to bring his ‘manfriend’ around. Bobby grumbled that at this rate, he was going to die before meeting Castiel and that was just unacceptable. Dean quickly hung up after, begging off for his cheerleading practice after a sarcasm-laden goodbye from Bobby and a heartfelt one from Sam. 

Dean’s cheerleading practice was the last thing he had to do on Wednesdays, and it was what he looked forward to the most (well, after groping Cas in the bed or shower first thing in the morning). The Universal Cheerleaders Association Nationals were being held at Walt Disney World in January and the KU squad was fired up for the competition; they were competing against the best in the world in the Large Coed Team Cheer, and they were hoping to improve on the previous year’s sixth place finish. 

Dean, as a junior and a member of the Angels collegiate squad, now had some seniority in the group and he had successfully led a campaign to pick _Free Will_ by Rush as the music for their routine. He was inordinately proud that he had vanquished the likes of Katy Perry and whatever passes for jock jams these days, though a lot of credit for his victory went to the unwavering support Lisa provided. She had brought most of the female underclassmen over to their side, mostly by virtue of being a senior that they wanted to impress, though a few had to be coaxed with promises that ranged from frat boys’ numbers to help on a Spanish midterm. It had been considerably easier for Dean; he’d just told they guys on the squad that he wanted Rush this year and they had all fallen in line.

While practices still involved refining stunts and acquiring skills for football games (and eventually basketball games when the season started), their main focus was now nailing down a winning routine. They had decided that there would be several two and a half pyramids, a dozen basket tosses in various positions, tons of platforms and extensions, and a few tumbling passes. Dean had a harder time than some of the other guys on the squad with extensions, lacking the muscle mass of the former offensive linemen, but he excelled at tumbling. Like Dean, Lisa had come to cheerleading through gymnastics, so the two of them put together the hardest and most impressive tumbling passes they could manage. 

And, since it was a cheerleading competition, there had to be actual cheering in their routine. They peppered the routine with the standard “Rock Chalk” chant that KU was known for, as well as a few other typical cheers to showcase their pep and spirit.

Usually, Dean’s cheerleading practice was the last thing he had to do on Wednesdays. He would go back to his dorm after practice, maybe get some dinner in one of the dining halls on campus with Charlie, watch some TV, procrastinate doing his homework, call Castiel and go to bed. 

But this Wednesday night, after all the practice equipment was cleared away, a war council was called to discuss strategy for the cheerleading intramural flag football team. Thursday night was the last game of the Co-Rec Intramural Flag Football season, and they needed to go out with a win to be seeded well in the single-elimination tournament the following week. The number one goal of the meeting was to recalibrate their defense against the offense-heavy team being fielded by the marching band.

The first few weeks of competition had gone well for the cheerleaders. The first game had been close against Student Senate, which had made them reconsider their plays and how to best utilize their players. Changing strategy had proved useful the following week when they had routed the swimming and diving team. They had implemented play after play of charging the defensive line, since divers and swimmers generally make bad linemen, and were able to rack up so many points that the other team never had a chance of coming back.

But the cheerleading team anticipated a much more difficult game against the band. After all, the band had two burly tuba players and a giant of a bass drum player on their team, as well as some crazy-fast trombone players to contend with. Their quarterback and the trumpet section-leader, Dorothy Baum, had been a force of nature in the band’s first game against one of the greek teams -- the Thetas and the SigEps had even been a formidable opponent, going on to win their next two games -- and she [scrambled](%20) and threw the ball so well, the band was thinking of nicknaming her the Tornado. 

When game time came around on Thursday, Dean had to hustle from his Abnormal Psychology class to make the seven-thirty start time. Dean was the team’s number one wide-receiver; as he proudly told anyone who would listen, he was the fastest son of a bitch intramural flag football had ever seen. Lisa was the other wide-receiver, and his speed plus her agility had made them almost unstoppable against the swimming and diving team. 

While the cheerleaders were stretching and finalizing their roster with the officials, Dean glanced at the sidelines, where Charlie and Cas were sitting together in the rickety bleachers. Cas was in his usual “incognito” trenchcoat, though instead of the typical ill-fitting suit and tie underneath, he was wearing a pair of holey jeans and a KU cheerleading t-shirt. Charlie was also sporting a KU t-shirt, though she had added “Go Dean” and “SUCK IT MARCHING JAYHAWKS” to hers in black Sharpie. The second addition had already gotten her an arch look from the band’s quarterback, which she had responded to with a filthy wink.

The first half of the game went off without a hitch, though the air was charged. Both teams were undefeated in their previous two games, and the knowledge that that streak was going to end for one of them made everyone play a little harder. After the first twenty-minute half, the score was tied seven to seven, with Lisa catching an amazing ten-yard pass to score the touchdown for the cheerleaders and Dorothy scoring for the band in a well-timed [quarterback sneak](%20). 

At halftime, both teams huddled up to refine their strategies for the second half. Dean peeked out over the shoulders of his teammates and caught a glimpse of the venomous glares the band was sending their way as they too huddle up. Both teams rehydrated for the second half and went back on the field like they were going to war. Consequently, the second half was much more brutal than the first. Neither team wanted to blemish their perfect record, so both played all out. There were one or two penalty flags thrown in the first half, but by the time of the two-minute warning in the second half, two players from the band had been thrown out of the game and the cheerleaders had culminitively lost almost 60 yards in penalties. 

The score was still tied (twenty one to twenty one) and the cheerleaders had the ball at the ten-yard line. Cassie Robinson, the cheerleader’s quarterback, called a pass play and Dean was itching to run into the endzone the moment the ball was snapped. Dean heard a shouted “Hike!” and the distinctive sound of leather hitting skin, and he was off the line of scrimmage like a shot. He easily charged past the band’s dwindling defense to position himself well in the endzone. He made eye contact with Cassie and within seconds the ball was in his outstretched hands. Dean’s teammates crashed into him and he knew the game was won. Sure, there was still a minute on the clock, but after that play, the band was worn out and weren’t going to be able to do anything with their time left. 

The ball was set up on the band’s twenty to start their drive (there are no free kicks in flag football), but they barely made it twenty yards when the buzzer blared announcing the end of the game. The two teams lined up to shake hands, but when Dean got to the band’s quarterback, she stopped him with a firm grip on his forearm.

“You’re Dean, right?” she asked and Dean nodded while the teams dispersed around them. He groaned internally, hating that she stopped him from seeing Cas before getting back to his dorm and shower -- the pull of caked mud on his calves and the trickle of sweat between his shoulderblades made him want to crawl out of his skin. He hoped he hid it well as he tried to patiently listen to Dorothy.

“So, the redhead in the stands, the one with your name on her shirt --,” Dorothy started.

“Charlie,” Dean provided and nodded his head for her to continue.

“Is she your girlfriend?” Dorothy asked directly, no hint of shyness. Dean wanted to laugh hysterically at the the thought of Charlie as his girlfriend, but he kept his composure as he shook his head.

“I don’t have the right parts,” he said and Dorothy’s eyebrows shot up. 

She smirked knowingly, “Is she seeing anyone?”

Dean shook his head, then added, “She _did_ just go through a rough breakup not too long ago. And she’s dealing with some family stuff.”

Dorothy nodded her head, considering, when Dean interjected, “But you should still go talk to her. I saw her checking you out during halftime.” Dean turned over his shoulder to look at Charlie in the bleachers. She was talking to Cas, but both of them were (not so) inconspicuously looking at him and Dorothy. Dean laughed to himself and shook Dorothy’s hand one last time before wishing her “Good luck.”

As soon as his conversation with Dorothy was over, Dean spotted Charlie bolting to where Dorothy was gathering her things. Dean picked up his own backpack on the sidelines and headed toward the front of the bleachers, where Cas had come down to stand patiently. Dean could feel Benny’s disapproving glare on the back of his neck as he sauntered toward Castiel, but he didn’t care. He was _ebullient_ , to use a word he picked up from Cas, and in a flirting mood.

“So you must be the NFL player that I heard came to see our little flag football game,” Dean said suggestively, “What are you, a tight end? Because you sure have one.” 

Cas blinked at Dean and scrunched his face up in a look of confusion, and Dean’s smile was wide and cheeky, undaunted by Cas’ perplexed face. 

“No Dean,” Cas said seriously, laying a hand on Dean’s arm, “I’m a cornerback.” Cas had the expression of a kindergarten teacher patiently explaining how to use scissors to five year-old on a sugar high. It was Dean’s turn to be confused, blinking at Cas’ seriousness.

“I thought you enjoyed football, Dean,” Cas continued, fixing Dean with a concerned stare, 

“You seem confused for someone who says he’s a fan.”

Dean huffed and rolled his eyes, “Jesus, Cas, I’m joking with you.” Dean gave Cas a little nudge with his elbow and the corner of Cas’ mouth upturned slightly. 

“Oh, you’re trying to pick me up.” Cas’ phrasing suddenly reminded Dean of when Cas had come to Dean’s cheer practice in July, when Castiel had briefly wondered if Dean was trying to pick him up. It had been the first time Dean had seen Cas use his stupid air quotes, and looking back, seeing where they are now, that whole conversation was hilarious in hindsight.

“You don’t need to pick me up, Dean.” Cas gave Dean the sauciest wink he could muster, “Though, I’m sure you wouldn’t mind if I tackled you.” Cas elbowed Dean in the ribs conspiratorially and Dean let out a loud bark of laughter. 

They were the last ones on the intramural field, so the public displays of affection didn’t cause Dean’s stomach to churn with anxiety like when there were people around. He could still feel tendrils of anxiety over being seen out in public creeping in from time to time, but seeing Cas laugh squashed any worries Dean had. He ignored the still-lingering feeling of eyes on the back of his neck and threw his arm over Cas’ shoulder. They had to stop and laugh every few feet as Dean steered Cas to the bike rack, but the extra-long trip was worth it.

Dean unlocked his bike from the rack and leaned over the top tube to give Cas a peck on the lips. 

“You played a great game, Dean,” Cas said, slipping his hand into Dean’s and squeezing gently.

“Well,” Dean said, “Between watching football every Sunday growing up and cheering at hundreds of football games, I know a thing or two about the sport.” 

“Why didn’t you play football as a kid?” Cas asked, giving Dean a considering look.

“I did,” Dean replied quietly, “Until the other kids didn’t want a gymnast on their team anymore.” Cas squeezed Dean’s hand and Dean smiled sadly. John had wanted Dean to give up gymnastics and play football instead, but Dean, even as a kid, knew he was just a mediocre football player and an excellent gymnast. 

“The other kids tried to kick me off once,” Cas said and Dean’s head whipped up.

“What? Why?” 

“I was a weird kid, Dean,” Cas sighed, giving Dean a sidelong look, “And I was miles better than anyone else.” Cas had that faraway look he got whenever he talked about his childhood. Dean tried not pry into Cas’ past after previous unsuccessful attempts to get anything out of him, but Cas seemed to be in a sharing mood. Dean knew Cas moved around a lot as a kid and he thought it must’ve been rough for Cas, even as a football prodigy, to be the weird new kid every year or so. 

“So, how’d that work out?” Dean asked.

“I said they only tried _once_ ,” Cas smirked and Dean guffawed. Though acclimated to Cas’ dry sense of humor, Dean was still caught off guard by his wit from time to time.

“Get out of here, you big dork,” Dean pushed Cas playfully before getting on his bike.

“I’ll call you when I get home,” Cas said, standing up on his tip toes to kiss Dean goodbye. 

Dean watched Cas walk back to his car before taking off on his bike back to his dorm; he was so focused on Castiel that he almost hit a nearby pedestrian in his post-Cas haze. He apologized and rode off, too excited to worry that he’d just kissed Cas in public for the first time.

 


	10. Chapter 10

Dean checked his pockets again for his keys and his wallet as he stepped out of McCollum Hall into the cool November night air. Dean slung his duffel bag over his shoulder, packed for the next two nights at Cas’, as anticipation thrummed under his skin. He crossed the parking lot with a spring in his step and a goofy grin on his face -- in forty five or so minutes, he’d be at Cas’ and he was already looking forward to whatever Cas had planned for the evening. There was a very large chance it would involve a naked and moaning Cas, and Dean was always on board for that.

Almost to the Impala, Dean spotted a figure a few yards off blocking his path. Dean hesitated for a moment -- having a detective for a mom and a paranoid Gulf War vet for a father taught Dean to always be on alert -- but the man turned to look at Dean, and a familiar grin broke out across his face.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas said, wearing a leather jacket and leaning against a vintage motorcycle, feet crossed at the ankles. Cas looked _good_ , sporting an air of apathetic cool and perfectly lit by one of the lampposts in the dorm parking lot. Dean opened and closed his mouth a few times in shock at the sight, and took a few unsteady steps toward Cas.

Dean had seen Cas’ [Triumph Bonneville T120](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Triumph_Bonneville_T120), all sky-blue and silver with black leather seats and two large, black leather saddlebags affixed over the rear wheel, but Dean had never seen Cas look like he was ready to give Steve McQueen a run for his money. 

“So, wanna go for a ride?” He smiled earnestly and held out a black helmet to Dean. Dean took it on autopilot, his brain still a few steps behind. Cas in skin tight jeans and leather was more than Dean’s brain could usually handle. 

Cas swung his leg over the bike and fitted on his own helmet while Dean took a few tentative steps toward him and readjusted his duffel so that the strap laid more securely across his chest. He awkwardly maneuvered his leg over the back of the bike, trying to avoid the saddlebags on the back and not topple over from the uneven weight of his bag. As Dean fidgeted in the seat, trying to find the most secure way to sit on the bike, Cas twisted around to watch, his amused look evident even with the visor on his helmet already pulled down. 

“Shut up,” Dean said gruffly as he put on his own helmet. Helmet secure and visor down too, he tentatively put his hands on Cas’ hips, scooting up as close as possible to Cas.

“I didn’t say anything,” came the muffled voice under Cas’ helmet, a little too innocently for Dean’s liking. Dean’s loose hold turned to a white-knuckled grip when Cas revved the engine. Cas just chuckled at Dean in response, while Dean grumbled about Cas’ teasing. 

Dean had fantasized about riding Cas’ bike since the first time Cas had pulled her out one endless Tuesday afternoon for a tune up and Cas had dragged Dean down with him to the dirty pavement for tool duty. Dean knew he had been pretty terrible at helping out, distracted by the sight of Cas filling out a pair of ratty jeans and a white t-shirt in a way that would have made Marlon Brando seethe with envy. But somehow, Dean kept his downstairs brain in check as they spent the afternoon working on the motorcycle together. After years of keeping his Impala in tip-top shape, Dean knew his way around an internal-combustion engine, but there was something fun and sweet about Cas showing him the ins-and-outs of his bike.

As the afternoon wore on, Cas’d even opened up and told the story of where the Triumph came from. While Cas changed the oil, he mentioned that he’d stumbled on the bike at an estate sale not long after [the NFL Draft](%20). His mother would later say that his signing bonus had just been burning a hole in his pocket, and that’s why he bought the motorcycle. But for Castiel, it was about immediate connection: connection with the obviously well-loved and carefully looked-after Triumph, connection with the old woman who was selling it, and connection with her husband, who had bought it new in the sixties and kept it in excellent condition, even when he could no longer ride it.

“It was my first act of rebellion,” Cas explained, squatting down next next to the Triumph, as he wiped some grease off on his t-shirt.

“I thought that was your wings,” Dean said. From his vantage point on the ground, Dean could easily see the tips of the feathers peeking out from under Cas’ sleeves. 

“No,” Cas replied, holding his hand out for a wrench, “ _that_ was my first act of rebellion that my mother couldn’t cover up or pretend it didn’t happen.” Dean put the took in Cas’ hand, and Cas continued, grunting as he tightened a bolt.

“With _this_ ,” Cas gestured vaguely at the five-hundred pounds of steel and leather in front of him, “she just pointedly ignored its existence.” Cas rolled his eyes and let out a soft sigh, expression turning softer and wistful as he propped himself up on his elbows. He looked at Dean like he was sharing a part of himself he had never shared with another living soul, something locked so deeply inside that he was afraid of what would happen to him if he let it out. He patted the bike fondly, confessing softly, “Riding feels like freedom. It feels like I’m flying.”

Dean nodded, maintaining eye contact with Castiel. “That’s what I feel like when I take Baby out. Nothin’ but me and the open road.” Dean swept his hand out in a grand gesture and Cas gave him a halfhearted smile before returning to his crouched position.

As Cas went back to work, he quietly requested that Dean tell him about the Impala and Dean was more than happy to fill up the silence. Dean talked about Bobby and John, and when they used to set up cinderblocks for Dean to stand on as soon as he was old enough to hold the tools. He told Cas about being just old enough to reach the pedals and John letting him take her out for the first time on a backcountry road, about Sam’s Army Man jammed in the ashtray that he can’t bring himself to pry loose. He even told Cas that when John died, the only tangible part of him that had come back was the Impala, how Dean had screamed as he had taken a crowbar to her, only to whisper apologies to her later as he popped out the dents and buffed out the marks.

Dean thought about that day spent with Cas and his motorcycle often; the simple pleasure of passing an afternoon working and talking together was something he’d never had in a relationship before. He’d never been able to share himself with someone the way that he shared himself with Cas. They recognized themselves in each other and Dean liked to think that Cas made him better, though he wasn’t sure if he had any effect on Cas at all. Every time he thought he had Cas figured out, Cas did something that completely surprised him. 

Cas chose that moment to surprise him again by tearing out of the parking lot full-throttle, catching Dean completely off-guard. Dean’s thighs clamped down on the sides of the Triumph and Cas’ hips, and his fingers gripped the cool leather of Cas’ jacket as Cas picked up speed on his way to the highway. 

Instead of taking the usual route, turning on to I-70 to go east to Mission Hills, Cas stayed on 59 until the next exit for 40. They rode east past the Lawrence Municipal airport and followed the curve of the road as it stretched out diagonally to the northeast. Once out of Lawrence, the well-lit interstates turned into two-lane highways, already pitch-black and mostly deserted, as they sailed past farm after farm in the dark. 

Even though the night was unseasonably warm for early-November (with the temperature still hovering in the low 60s even at night), Dean could feel the ice-cold wind on his neck as they flew down the highway. Dean used the chill as an excuse to press as much of himself against the firm line of Cas’ back, and when he positioned himself just the right way, Dean could feel Cas’ heart pounding in his chest. Focusing on Cas’ presence, and Cas’ obvious exhilaration from riding the Triumph, almost made Dean forget that he was barely clinging to a hunk of metal traveling over seventy miles an hour.

After twenty minutes or so, Dean’s nerves finally had a chance to settle as they slowed down, passing through a small town called Tonganoxie. The road turned due east as carved its way through the town and they traveled along it for a few more miles past city limits before Cas pulled off onto a narrow, dusty farm road. He nudged Dean, and Dean stumbled off the bike before Cas effortlessly and gracefully dismounted. He shot Dean a smug look as he took off his helmet and placed it on the back of the bike.

“So,” Dean said as he pulled off his helmet, patting his hair down and hoping didn’t look stupid, “what now?”

Cas just smiled, and pulled out a surprisingly large, but thin, blanket out of one saddlebag over the rear wheel of the Triumph and a small box, a water bottle, and a flashlight out of the other. He motioned for Dean to follow him and Dean sighed before dropping his bag on the ground and taking off after Cas.

“Cas, are we trespassing?” Dean whispered as he watched Cas throw the blanket and box over a short wooden fence before jumping the fence with practiced ease, flashlight in his back pocket.

“No,” Cas answered, gesturing for Dean to follow him, “I own this land.”

“What?” Dean had one leg up on the fence and nearly toppled over. He felt like an idiot; he was a goddamn cheerleader and former gymnast for fuck’s sake and he had already almost face planted in front of Cas twice in one evening.

“Well, I _do_ own the mineral rights,” Cas explained as he steadied Dean, “as well as the two oil wells on this property as part of my holdings.”

“So, you don’t really own this land,” Dean said, “At least not the part we’re on.”

Cas shrugged, glint in his eye as he laid out the blanket, flashlight now in his mouth. “It’s only trespassing if we get caught,” he mumbled around the flashlight.

Once spread out, Cas hunkered down on the blanket and patted the spot next to him. Dean sighed and flopped down dramatically. He had only known Cas for a few months now, and Dean’d already turned Cas from a nerdy, homebody virgin to a law-breaking nympho. And okay, maybe Cas is still pretty nerdy, and they still spent plenty of time curled up on Cas’ couch. Plus, Dean had plenty of evidence that Cas used violence to solve his problems before he even met Dean, and Cas was the one to take the lead the first time they had sex...

Dean couldn’t linger too long on thoughts of whatever influence he might or might not have had on Cas, because the man himself scooted closer to Dean, and Dean’s brain tended to stop working when Dean was close enough to smell Cas’ aftershave. Still keeping as much contact as possible with Dean, Cas reached to open the box he was carrying, revealing a snack of various cheeses and deli meats and crackers. Dean stomach growled at the sight; he hadn’t eaten since before his evening class, and apparently, he was starving.

“So, did the it’s-bigger-on-the-inside storage system come with the bike,” Dean asked around a mouthful of crackers and cheese, “or did you add that?”

Cas gave him a quizzical look before piecing together Dean’s reference and meaning. “Ah, you mean how was I able to bring so much with me?” Dean nodded, going for more food while a look of discomfort flitted over Castiel’s features.

“I’ve traveled around the country for one reason or another since I was a kid,” Cas said, picking up his own snack, daintily placing a small cube of cheese and slice of sausage on a cracker, before Dean could devour all the food. “Between moving around and traveling for games, I learned that packing well was a useful skill to have.” Castiel stared off into distance, features closed off and dark as he chewed thoughtfully, the wind playing with his already helmet-mussed hair. Dean brought up a hand to join the wind, running his fingers gently over Cas’ scalp. Cas turned to Dean, softly smiling, and he gave Dean’s hand a barely-there kiss before pulling him down to lay on the blanket. Cas fitted himself tightly against Dean’s side, for warmth or for comfort (or maybe both), and Dean slipped his palm into Cas’, lacing their chilled fingers together. 

“So I get the whole symbolism with the Triumph,” Dean pointed in the direction of the bike with both their hands, “but what’s with the Corvette? You don’t seem to care about her much.”

“The Corvette was a gift,” Castiel answered, looking already bored with the conversation. Dean nodded for Cas to go on and he continued with a sigh, “My mother thought buying the Triumph was me expressing an interest in vintage vehicles. She decided to encourage that with what she considered a safer option, and according to her, having classic car restoration as a hobby makes me ‘relatable.’” Castiel scoffed at the term and Dean could tell that the idea of Cas appealing to the lowest common denominator red-blooded American male was a sore subject.

Dean frowned; he was now oh-for-two in terms of conversational topics that didn’t make Castiel completely shut down. 

“So your mom’s out of the house,” Dean pressed on, trying to swing the conversation around to something if not happier than at least a little less painful, “Why don’t you just sell her?” Dean internally bemoaned the thought of never getting another chance to drive the Corvette, but he figured getting rid of a constant reminder of Cas’ perceived shortcomings was probably better for Cas’ mental health. 

Castiel turned to look at Dean, really _look_ at Dean, for the first time since they’d lain down on the blanket. “You like her,” he said, like it was the most obvious explanation in the world. Dean turned to hide his blush, and Castiel turned to stare up at the sky.

“Dean,” Cas said after a long, but not awkward, stretch of silence. He shook Dean’s hand slightly to get his attention, “Look up.”

The night was nearly cloudless and moonless, and Dean couldn’t remember the last time he had seen so many _stars_. It had to have been when he was a kid, when he and Sam used to set up an old battered telescope on Bobby’s acres of property, looking for UFOs and finding the constellations out of one of Bobby’s old star books. He also remembered laying flat on his back and just _staring_ into space, making up his own constellations and annoying Sam.

“That’s the [Summer Triangle](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Summer_Triangle),” Cas pointed with their conjoined hands to three bright stars in the west, “Altair, Vega and Deneb.” Dean nodded, remembering the asterism from his childhood, but letting Cas’ baritone rumble and wash over him. Castiel had the perfect voice for teaching (and dirty talk, Dean’s mind added, if Cas could ever figure out how to do it correctly), all firm and commanding, but soothing despite its inherent roughness. 

“Deneb and Altair, those two there,” Castiel pointed to the left side of the triangle, “are part of Cygnus and Aquila, respectively.” 

Dean hummed, “The swan and the eagle.” Cas raised an eyebrow appreciatively at Dean, and Dean scoffed.

“What?” Dean challenged, “I took Latin for my foreign language in high school.” Castiel chuckled and turned his attention back to the summer triangle.

“The third star,” Cas explained, “is Vega, the brightest star in the Summer Triangle and part of the constellation [Lyra](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lyra).” Castiel pointed to the third star and traced the shape of a harp with his and Dean’s hands.

“I don’t understand how people looked at _that_ ,” Dean gestured at Lyra, “and got ‘lyre.’ It looks more like a rabbit to me. Maybe a insect or something.” Dean tilted his head, trying to imagine that the boxy shape of the constellation could somehow conceivably be anything but an abstract grouping of bright stars.

“Lyra has also traditionally been seen as an eagle holding a lyre,” Cas explained, “calling it Aquila Cadens, or falling eagle.” Cas turned to look at Dean, whose face was still contorted in confusion.

“Vega, after all, means ‘swooping eagle’ in Arabic --,” Cas started.

“So, three birds then,” Dean finished and Cas nodded in agreement. Dean’s thoughts immediately turned to the large bird-like wings that spanned over Cas’ back and Cas’ talk of freedom and flying. Dean propped himself on an elbow, angling his body to frown down at Cas.

“Cas,” Dean chewed on his lip thoughtfully, “What would you do if you weren’t a professional football player?”

Cas sighed, avoiding eye contact. “I honestly don’t know,” he replied quietly, lacing his fingers together on his chest, “Something where no one could make decisions for me, I suppose. Something where I could be free to do what _I_ wanted to do, not what someone else had chosen.”

Castiel raised himself up to mirror Dean’s position. “I never thought I would be able to have _this_ ,” Cas waved his hand in the air between their hearts, “to _choose_ this.” His features softened as he reached out for Dean, wrapping a hand around the back of Dean’s head. Castiel kissed Dean’s forehead and his right cheekbone, followed by his left, the tip of his nose, and finally his lips in a weary, but reassuring touch.

“I’ve seen a lot in this world, Dean,” Cas said, his eyes open and forehead resting against Dean’s, “but I hadn’t really experienced it, until I met you.” 

Dean could see nothing but affection and hope in Cas’ eyes, but he wasn’t sure what to do with that piece of information. It was declarations like these that had set Dean on edge when they had first met, with Dean unsure of the man’s sincerity. Even now, after months of days spent in each other’s company and nights spent in Cas’ bed, Dean still couldn’t believe Cas could feel _that way_ about a schmuck like Dean. Dean shook his head but Cas held him fast. 

“Dean,” Cas implored, “Don’t you know how I -- don’t you realize --,” Cas was cut off by a bolt of lightning quickly followed by a deafening clap of thunder. While looking at each other, intermittent cirrus wisps had turned into rain-fat cumulonimbus clouds, threatening to open up any second on Dean and Cas.

“I guess that’s our cue to get home,” Dean said with a grin, killing the mood and cutting off whatever it was that Castiel was going to say. Cas frowned at Dean’s avoidance tactic, but quickly helped Dean gather everything they had brought and load it onto the bike as the first small raindrops, harbingers of the storm to come, began to fall. Dean had just situated himself behind Cas, barely wrapping his duffel across his torso again and throwing on his helmet, when Cas peeled out onto the highway to Mission Hills.

For most of the ride back, all they encountered of the storm was a little wind and occasional sprinkle, but their luck ran out by the time they hit Kansas City. Almost the second after they crossed the Kansas River, the heavens finally opened up poured out a deluge on them. Dean thought Cas probably broke a few traffic laws getting them the last few miles home, but he tried not to focus on that fact as he clung to Cas in the dark and the wind and the rain.

Once at Cas’, it was a race to see who could get out of their sodden clothes in the laundry room first. Dean had the disadvantage of everything in his duffel being soaked through (adding what seemed like fifty pounds to shed), but he fought dirty, getting Cas tangled up in his sweater or tickling Cas when he least expected it. Cas wasn’t adverse to dirty tactics either, placing searing kisses on any exposed part of Dean, cupping Dean though his jeans, and thumbing Dean’s nipples. By the time Cas was completely naked and throwing his clothes, and Dean’s clothes from his duffel, into the dryer, Dean was still mostly-clothed with his dick pushing insistently against his partially-undone fly. 

Cas looked at Dean, halfway to debauched, and laughed. He helped Dean remove the rest of his rain-soaked clothes, and wrapped Dean in the biggest, fluffiest towel in his linen closet. He rubbed color back into Dean’s frozen hands and arms while Dean grabbed another towel and got to work drying off Cas. Cas rubbed the towel between Dean’s legs, as Dean sputtered and blushed from the contact.

“Let’s go upstairs, Dean,” Cas said, looking over Dean’s mostly-dry naked body and letting his eyes linger on Dean’s still-prominent erection. The feelings of Cas’ eyes on his body, coupled with Cas’ own obvious arousal, made Dean shiver in anticipation.

Cas led Dean upstairs to his enormous bed and pulled off the duvet in one quick motion before gently commanding Dean to lie on his stomach. Dean felt vulnerable and exposed and more than a little jittery spread out on the bed, naked legs slightly parted as Cas moved around the bedroom just out of Dean’s line of sight. Dean wrapped his arms around one of Cas’ fluffiest down pillows, trying to calm his nerves when he felt Cas lightly trace a finger up the inside of Dean’s calf. Dean jumped at the touch (he hadn’t even felt the bed dip from Cas’ weight), and Cas’ touch turned bolder, stroking the taut muscle of Dean’s calf. 

“Dean, relax,” Cas chuckled fondly, his touch becoming bolder as he continued to massage Dean’s calves. Cas repositioned himself so he was sitting on the backs of Dean’s thighs and reached up to rub Dean’s stiff shoulders. Under Cas’ strong hands, the tension in Dean’s shoulders started to fall away and Cas hummed his approval. He leaned down to plant a kiss on the nape of Dean’s neck as his hands moved lower to massage Dean’s torso and lower back. Dean would later deny it, but he was practically purring under Castiel’s ministrations. Cas knew all of the places where Dean carried stress (and Dean even taught him all the medical names for those places) and would lightly kiss each spot after working out a knot. 

As Cas’ touches moved lower and his kisses turned from feather-light to open-mouthed and scorching, Dean began to feel his arousal returning. His erection had flagged somewhat in his nervousness, but now that he could feel Cas’ cock pressing against his ass, little Dean was getting back in the game. 

Cas readjusted, settling back on his heels to run his hands over Dean’s ass. He rubbed circles in the firm flesh with his thumbs, gently tugging Dean’s cheeks apart and exposing all of Dean’s business to Cas’ scrutiny. Dean blushed as he felt cool air and Cas’ glare on his perineum and hole. Cas placed reassuring kisses at the dip of Dean’s spine before dragging a finger down the cleft of Dean’s ass.

“Cas!” Dean gasped, surprised by the unexpected touch. Cas laughed huskily into Dean’s spine and Dean grunted.

“I’m glad I’m amusing you,” Dean said hotly. Cas slid up Dean’s body to hook his chin over Dean’s shoulder. Dean loved the feeling of Cas draped over his back, the warm, solid weight doing more to make him relax than anything else Cas had done. 

“That’s not all,” Cas whispered into Dean’s ear and moved his hips so they were flush against Dean’s ass. How Cas could go from calm and reassuring to arousing and teasing was a mystery Dean was still puzzling out when Cas returned to his original position sitting on Dean’s thighs.

“Dean, would you like to try something new?” Cas asked earnestly, thumb placed suggestively along the cleft of Dean’s ass. Dean had never done _this_ before, and he was slightly terrified, even though he had been the one to suggest it. Dean had let it slip one night weeks ago that he was interested in being fucked -- or, as he had expressed it at the time, stammering with obscene hand gestures and appropriate pointing until Castiel’s looks of confusion caused Dean to shout, “Dammit, Cas, I want you to fuck me! Jesus Christ!” -- but it was a line they hadn’t crossed yet. Dean bit his lip and considered Cas’ proposition; he trusted Cas completely, knowing that even if he said yes now, Cas would stop if Dean felt uncomfortable later on. 

Dean was jolted out of his deliberations by the feeling of Cas’ cock sliding sensuously a few times against Dean’s ass. Dean gasped, his hole clenching as he imagined what it would feel like to have Cas _inside_ him, and he made his decision.

“Yes, okay,” Dean moaned, “let’s do it.”

“What is that, Dean?” Cas asked impishly, barely rubbing his thumb along Dean’s perineum.

“Oh God,” Dean groaned, blushing for what had to have been the millionth time that night, “Iwantyoutofuckme, okay?”

Cas hummed and suddenly his hands were gone from Dean’s body. Dean heard rustling and packaging being opened, but he couldn’t really tell what Cas was doing until a cold, wet, gloved thumb gently touched Dean’s entrance. Dean hissed at the coolness and Cas rubbed his apology into Dean’s ass with his other hand. Cas gently prodded at the muscle, barely slipping in the tip of his thumb and checking Dean’s reaction. 

When Cas could see Dean was relaxed and content, he slipped the rest of his thumb into Dean, tugging at Dean’s rim. Dean gasped and bucked against the sheets, unprepared for just how _good_ Cas’ touch felt. Dean might’ve been an old pro at this, slicking up his fingers and slipping them past his balls to finger himself, but having Cas in charge ramped up his arousal to eleven. 

“How are you doing, Dean?” Cas asked, as he slowly and measuredly pumped his thumb in and out. 

Dean let out a frustrated sigh, “I’ll be better when you get a move on.” Dean was feeling both impatient and overwhelmed. He appreciated Cas checking in on him and the solid point of contact of Cas’ other hand where it rested on the small of Dean’s back -- both little gestures grounded Dean when he felt like he was about to fly apart -- but he was also ready for _more_.

Cas chuckled at Dean’s impatient huff. He pulled out his thumb and replaced it with one finger briefly before adding another. Dean moaned when he felt two fingers in his ass, the initial resistance giving way to a smooth glide. On every third or so thrust of his fingers, Cas would drag his thumb over Dean’s rim, catching it and tugging or rubbing it soothingly. Dean was already thanking various deities for Cas’ long, dextrous fingers that could reach and twist like Dean’s never could on his own, when Cas crooked his fingers and found Dean’s prostate. A jolt of pleasure shot up his dick and he arched off the bed.

“Oh,” Castiel said, surprised by Dean’s reaction. He aimed for Dean’s prostate again, and Dean let out a loud, long moan. Dean mumbled something that vaguely resembled “ungh, feels good Cas”into the pillow, and gave a few shallow thrusts of his hip, seeking any sort of friction against his cock.

“That’s good to know,” Cas said, taking in Dean’s reaction. Cas ran his hand up and down Dean’s spine as he added a third finger, which elicited a hiss followed by a sigh from Dean. Dean enjoyed the stretch and fullness Cas’ fingers provided, a feeling he was not entirely used to. Dean also wasn’t used to the feeling of _comfort_ this whole experience was providing. Cas fingered him like he did everything else, methodically and precise, but there was such a tenderness to way Cas touched him. He felt wrapped up in Cas, fingers in his ass and another hand rubbing along his spine with Cas occasionally bending down to lay a kiss on Dean’s shoulders. Dean sunk into the steady in and out rhythm of Cas’ hand, the pleasure Cas was drawing from his body, letting out a grunt of frustration when it stopped.

“Dean,” Cas asked, fingers wiggling playfully in Dean, “Are you ready?” Cas sounded hopeful, but edged with a willingness to stop immediately if Dean asked. Dean turned over his shoulder to look Cas in the eye and told him yes.

Cas gently pulled his fingers out and yanked off his glove, turning it inside out in the process before dumping it on the floor. Dean’s body thrummed with anticipation as he heard the telltale sound of a condom wrapper being ripped open, and a soft considering noise as Cas figured out how to put the damn thing on. Dean chuckled to himself; of course Cas had never worn a condom before (though, knowing Cas, he might have tried one on to make sure he understood how they worked).

Cas must’ve figured the condom out, though, because the next thing Dean felt was the cold shock of more lube being poured directly onto his hole. He jumped at the sensation and Cas took advantage of his movement, to haul him up on his knees.

“Okay, I’m going to start,” Cas said as he lined up his cock. Dean nodded, then felt the blunt press of Cas’ cock as it barely pushed into him. Dean sucked in a gasp as the head of Cas’ cock finally breached him. It was so different from Cas’ fingers and Dean momentarily panicked, thinking there was no way Cas was going to fit as he slid in slowly. Dean looked over at Cas for reassurance, but saw instead Cas’ eyes screwed shut and his breathing erratic, while his practiced control was on the brink of shattering. It was pretty much the hottest thing Dean had ever seen and Dean’s momentary panic was gone.

When Cas bottomed out, he slipped his hands under Dean’s arms and pulled him up by the shoulders. They were now pressed together from knee to shoulder, Dean’s back against Cas’ torso. Cas slid his hand up to guide Dean’s head to to side, his mouth meeting Dean’s in a clumsy slide over Dean’s shoulder. Dean just let Cas guide him where he wanted him, enjoying the strong hold of Castiel’s arms and the small thrill of being manhandled. 

Cas trailed kisses from the corner of Dean’s mouth to the spot behind Dean’s ear, while grinding sensuously against Dean’s ass. The position they were in made Cas’ cock glide over his prostate with every thrust, and Dean was sure he wasn’t going to last very long, even at this slow pace.

Cas pushed Dean’s torso forward slightly so that Dean’s hands rested on his knees. This gave Cas two free hands, which he used to grip Dean’s hips and run his fingers over Dean’s chest. The added leverage meant Cas could go harder and faster, and Dean could feel pleasure coiling just behind his navel, his orgasm building . Like he could read Dean’s mind, Cas finally brought his hand down to Dean’s dick, and Dean threw his head back against Cas’ shoulder, moaning shamelessly. 

“Are you close?” Cas panted as he stroked Dean in time with his thrusts.

“Yes, Cas-- ohhh,” Dean moaned and Cas picked up the pace again. A few more thrusts and well-timed pulls of Dean’s cock and he came hard over Cas’ hand and the sheets. It felt like the pressure that had built up in him had whooshed out, only to be replaced by indescribable pleasure. Cas came not long after, his hands firm around Dean’s waist, slamming into Dean and moaning into Dean’s ear. 

Cas held Dean against him, nuzzling Dean’s back between his shoulderblades as he came down from his orgasm.

“We should do that again,” Cas said, between ragged breaths.

“Okay,” Dean agreed, before turning over his shoulder to look at Cas mischievously, “But next time, I’m fucking you.” Cas grinned and leaned over Dean’s shoulder to place a light kiss on his cheeck.

“I don’t know,” Cas said after the kiss, “You seemed to really enjoy that.” Dean blushed and bit his lip shyly. Cas would later tell him how amazing it was that Dean could look so bashful with another man still inside him. 

“Shut up and get outta my ass,” Dean said, deflecting, and Cas chuckled, gingerly pulling out and grabbing the towel he had put at the foot of the bed. Cas wiped off the mess on Dean’s stomach and groin -- taking a towel to Dean’s junk for the second time that night and taking care to not be too rough on his oversensitive cock. 

“Ugh,” Dean groaned while Cas tied off the condom and threw it away, “I still feel gross. I’m going to take a shower.” Cas nodded groggily, already climbing into bed with half-lidded eyes, as Dean got off the bed on shaky legs. He started to walk toward to bathroom, before stopping suddenly and shaking his hips.

Cas laughed, “What are you doing, Dean?”

“Feels weird,” Dean replied, testing the strange feeling of lingering openness and wetness by moving his hips again. He grunted and continued on to the shower while Cas looked on amused. 

While Dean showered, he couldn’t help but replay the whole experience in his mind. Sure, it had been hot and his orgasm had been intense, but there was something about how Cas had treated him that stuck with Dean. He had felt so cherished and taken care of, feelings he had never had during sex before. Cas had wanted to make sure that it wasn’t just pleasurable for Dean, but that Dean was also comfortable and anxiety-free. The frantic one-night stands with sorority girls after parties or the passionless obligatory sex after a third date could never measure up to how complete he had felt in Cas’ arms.

Dean stopped half-way through soaping up his stomach. Did he _love_ Cas? They had only known each other four months, but sometimes he felt like he had known Cas for ages. After all, from the day he had given Cas his phone number, Dean had been inundated with multiple calls and texts every day; he had never had so much contact with anyone outside his family. Cas had slipped into his life so easily, understood Dean so well even from those first moments, that it felt like they had been friends for years before Cas had kissed him after that Angels game. 

But could Dean love him already? And when they were laying out under the stars; is that what Cas wanted to tell him? Dean needed to talk to Cas. If there was anyone who could help sort out his feelings, it was his best friend. 

“Hey, Cas?” Dean asked when he emerged from the bathroom, after taking a little extra time to brush his teeth and take out his contacts. The light was off and Cas was under the covers already.

“Hmm?” Cas mumbled half-asleep and nuzzled his head in his pillow.

Dean paused; what if he asked only to find out that Cas _didn’t_ love him? Surely Cas was trying to say something else before the storm came.

“Nah, it’s nothing. Go to sleep,” Dean said instead, crawling into bed next to Cas. He found a small patch of wetness and cringed. He’d need to take another shower in the morning, but for now, he settled as close to Cas as possible and let himself be lulled asleep by the rhythm of Cas’ breathing.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW art at the end of the chapter by [chargetransfer](http://chargetransfer.tumblr.com)!

Dean had just barely met the definition of _awake_ , coffee in hand and slowly migrating to Cas’ den, when his phone started blaring the guitar riff from _Ramble On_. Dean was convinced Bobby’s favorite hobby was fucking with Dean, so of course Bobby had decided to call before ten the Tuesday morning before Thanksgiving. 

On the other end of the line, Bobby (not so politely) reminded Dean that if he wanted to cook the turkey on Thursday, he shouldn’t lollygag around and show up after noon. And Dean should probably bring some of that cranberry sauce Sam liked. And Bobby’s sheriff friend, Jody Mills, had promised to stop by with something at some point in the day, so Dean should look presentable.

Dean hummed and responded appropriately to all of Bobby’s requests, but cringed as the conversation started wrap up. Bobby was still ending calls with, “So when are we going to meet that man of yours?” and it was driving Dean up a wall. He wanted to shout, “Never if I can help it!”, but Cas, the consummate eavesdropper, closed whatever he was reading on his iPad and leaned over to get Dean’s attention.

“Hold on Bobby,” Dean groused, putting his hand over the mic on his phone, “What is it, Cas?”

“I don’t have any plans for Thanksgiving,” Cas said, “Maybe I could meet your family then?” Dean sighed dramatically and put the phone back up to his ear.

“Bobby, I’m bringing Cas to Thanksgiving, happy now?” Dean asked, rubbing his hand down his face.

“No,” Bobby groused, “shoulda done this ages ago, but I suppose that can’t be helped now. Might hafta get a bigger turkey, though. This wouldn’t have been a problem --” Dean put his hand over the mic again.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Cas?” Dean whispered and Cas nodded.

“I look forward to meeting Sam and your Uncle Bobby,” Cas said, still struggling with appropriate whispering volume, “There’s no Angels game on Thanksgiving, so since I would otherwise just be sitting at home alone, I’m in no way inconvenienced.”

“Gee thanks, Cas, glad we rank above ‘home alone’ for your possible Thanksgiving plans,” Dean said sarcastically, using Cas’ typical air-quotes (made much more difficult by still holding his phone in one hand), and Cas pinched him. Dean mouthed an “ow” at Cas, and Cas smiled smugly before going back to his iPad.

Dean caught the end of Bobby’s ramblings, “ -- and you’d better bring that fancy-ass car of his - gotta make sure this hoity-toity Kansas City guy knows what he’s doing.”

“Yeah yeah, bring Cas, bring the ‘Vette, gotta go, bye Bobby,” Dean hung up and sunk into the couch, languidly savoring the unhurried feeling of the day. Dean was ready to never move again, sipping his coffee and lazily flipping through the million channels of Cas’ premium cable package. 

Cas, apparently, had other plans. He put down his iPad purposefully and turned to Dean with a heated look. Dean groaned and rolled his eyes.

“What do _you_ want?” Dean asked. It was a stupid question. From the way Cas was licking his lips, Dean could easily come up with most of the possibilities, but Dean was feeling tired and cranky from his call with Bobby. 

“I’m going to go put on my uniform pants, and I want to you to suck me off,” Cas stated simply, and well, _that_ certainly wasn’t one of the possibilities Dean was thinking of. He still needed to work with Cas on his dirty talk and setting the mood, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t immediately perk up at the thought of Cas in those silly, stupidly tight uniform pants of his. Telling Dean to _suck him off_.

In all his years cheering, Dean had seen his fair share of form-fitting pants that made Dean’s dick stand up at attention. The girls at cheer camps and competitions had more types of body-clinging pants than Dean initially knew even existed. There were yoga pants, which were tight around the ass and down the thighs, but were open at the feet, perfect for slipping a hand or foot inside. And running pants, which were tight from their low-slung top all the way down to where they ended mid-calf. Dean loved how thin and light those pants felt as he ran his hands over them. He’d even seen more than his fair share of young women in spandex, leaving nothing to his eager imagination. 

But by far, Dean’s favorite pair of tight pants were Cas’ home game football tights. White, with a two blue stripes around a stylized golden wing down the side, they seemed to show off every ripple of muscle when Castiel moved. Even though cheering in the rain was a bitch, every Sunday Dean prayed to whatever god was listening that there would be light showers during the game, since Cas’ pants turned practically transparent when wet. Like quarterbacks’ and wide receivers’, Cas’ pants had little padding, which allowed Dean to see more of Castiel than the cornerback probably knew he was showing off. One such rainy game, Dean chanced a look at Cas, crouched down at the line of scrimmage, his whole backside wet and covered with grass stains, and Dean could clearly make out the wide bands of Cas’ jockstrap cupping his round ass. It was times like those that Dean desperately wished Cas played for the offense so he could watch Cas play and not be so distracted on the occasions he caught a glimpse. When he had to hold people in the air and concentrate on not dropping them was not the best time to have a tantalizingly wet football player to look at. 

Cas was still looking at Dean expectantly, poised to get up and leave the couch, when Dean bit his lip, nodding to give Cas the go-ahead. At Dean’s nod, Cas disappeared to somewhere in his cavernous home, probably the gym in the basement, to get changed. One time, and only one time, Dean had wandered downstairs to Cas’ in-home basement gym. He had gone down there ostensibly to do his reading for English, because the floor-to-ceiling windows on one wall opened onto a copse of trees and a creek at the bottom of the hill in Cas’ backyard. Dean’s plan was to sit in front of that wall of windows, enjoying the dapple light and burbling of the creek, while he read Robert Frost poems, because there was something just freakin’ _awesome_ about reading that the woods were lovely, dark and deep right next to a small patch of forest.

Dean's plan worked for about five minutes before the metallic clinks and soft grunts of Castiel's workout interrupted Dean's reading. Looking up from his poem, Dean caught a glimpse of a shirtless, sweating Cas, and Robert Frost didn’t stand a chance. Dean dumbfoundedly watched Cas move from his leg extension machine to lay down to bench press. He reached up for the barbell, but didn’t even make it through one rep before Dean climbed on top of him and ground their hips together. Dean learned that day that going down to the gym was not conducive to his studying, though the barbell made a good handhold for sex.

Cas reappeared in the den shortly after Dean replayed the gym-sex incident in his mind. Cas came around the couch, wearing his uniform pants and a light Under Armour t-shirt, to stand in front of Dean who had scooted forward so that just the edge of his butt was still on the couch. Cas’ damn pants were still dirty, covered in bits of grass and dirt and stained with patches of dried sweat and blood. But Dean couldn’t possibly care less about the state of Cas’ pants as he looked up from the couch at his best friend. Cas looked just as fierce and untamed as he did on the football field, eyes burning like blue fire and hair an unruly mess.

Dean tugged Cas toward him by the hem of his t-shirt, and licked his lips as he saw the complex belt and laces that make up the fastening of Castiel’s pants. And by the looks of what was going on under the fastenings, Cas wasn’t wearing his usual cup, making Dean’s mouth water even more.

Dean traced his hands over the solid musculature of Castiel’s thighs, revelling in feeling the man beneath his hands. He began just above the knee where Cas’ pants ended, coming up around the outside to feel Cas’ firm quads before running his thumbs along the the tops of Cas’ thighs. Dean skirted around Cas’ growing erection and grabbed handfuls of ass and pull Cas even closer. Cas grunted at the sudden movement, bringing a hand down on Dean’s left shoulder to steady himself. 

Dean slowly pulled up Cas’ t-shirt, exposing the smooth plane of his stomach and the tops of his sharp hip bones. He rested his left hand on the space between Cas’ ribs and hip bone, rubbing patterns absently into Cas’ tanned skin. 

Keeping eye-contact with the man towering above him, Dean leaned in to nibble at the space between Cas’ bellybutton and the top of his pants. Cas let out a strangled sound and gripped Dean’s shoulder tighter as Dean’s mouth made contact with the line of dark hair starting just under Cas’ belly button. Dean held Cas steady, nuzzling the soft flesh and coarse hair, as he set to work on undoing the velcro of Cas’ belt and pulling one end through the D-ring that secured the whole apparatus. 

Belt gone, Dean set to work on his favorite part of Cas’ pants: the laces. 

Now Dean wasn’t a stranger to laces or complicated underthings, and he had always enjoyed the thrill of snapping buttons and pulling laces free. There was something about the notion of unwrapping his sexual partner that sent Dean from pleasantly hard to aching, and these uniform pants were no different. The fact that a few tugs is all it would take to free Cas’ cock made Dean want to rip off the pants impatiently and take all of Cas in one go. Dean had to calm himself down, will himself to draw it out and make it good for both of them.

And it seemed that Dean wasn’t the only one struggling for control, if Castiel’s panting breaths and periodic tightening of his hand on Dean’s shoulder were anything to go by. Dean met Cas’ eyes again as he grabbed one end of the lace with his teeth and slowly pulled the simple bow loose. Cas’ breath hitched and brought his other hand down on the nape of Dean’s neck.

Watching Dean methodically work his pants open, unhurriedly slipping the ends of the laces through each eyelet, drew a huff and an impatient thrust from Cas. Dean chuckled and tsked Cas; to Cas’ frustration, he went slower, pausing and pressing a kiss to every new bit of skin and dark hair exposed by his loosening of the laces. With the last end of the lace free from Cas’ pants, Cas took his hands off Dean and quickly pushed his pants down to the tops of his thighs before repositioning them on either side of Dean’s head. 

With Cas’ pants bunched up around his thighs, Dean leaned forward to suck one of Cas’ newly-exposed balls into his mouth. Cas hissed in a breath at the first touch of Dean’s mouth and Dean felt Cas’ fingers spasm on his head. Dean moved to suck around the base of Cas’ erection, lapping Cas occasionally with his tongue.

“ _Dean_ ,” Cas whined, unimpressed with Dean’s teasing. Dean laughed at Cas’ impatience and decided to take pity on the man. He kissed up Cas’ length before wrapping his lips around the head. He ran his tongue over the sensitive underside of glans and Cas involuntarily bucked his hips.

“Sorry,” Cas said breathlessly as Dean resumed sucking on the head of Cas’ cock. Dean pumped the rest of Cas’ length with his hand, and Cas trembled, tightening his hands in Dean’s hair. Dean moaned at the sensation as pain and pleasure spiked through him, fueling his own arousal. 

“Sorry, again,” Cas said, running his fingers over Dean’s head and gently massaging his scalp in apology. Dean shook his head, Cas’ dick still in his mouth, and Cas chuckled. Cas’ laughter turned again to moans when Dean went back to bobbing his head along Cas’ erection. 

Dean had only given a handful of blowjobs at this point in their relationship, but reducing Cas to this state was quickly becoming his favorite part. Cas legs started trembling and Dean could feel the muscles in Cas’ ass contract and relax as Dean pushed Cas toward release. Breathy grunts and moans escaped from Cas’ lips as he matched Dean’s rhythm with shallow unconscious thrusts.

Dean then pulled out all the stops, doing all the things Cas loved as he teetered just on the edge of orgasm. Dean tongued the slit before dragging the flat of his tongue along the underside of Cas’ cock while reaching up to massage Cas’ balls. Dean knew Cas wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer under that onslaught, so he pulled his own cock through the slit in his boxers and began pumping his length.

Dean tongued Cas’ slit again and he felt Cas tense above him. He heard a gasp of breath, then “Dean, oh!,” and Cas came hot and salty down Dean’s throat. 

Dean pulled off and pressed a searing kiss to the base of Cas’ softening dick, looking up at Cas and slowing the pace of his hand around his dick. Cas smiled down at Dean before collapsing on top of him, Dean’s hand still wrapped around his own dick and caught between their two bodies.

“Oof, Cas, you’re heavy!” Dean protested, trying to rearrange the uncooperative 200 pounds of man on top of him.

“Mmm,” Cas hummed and slipped down Dean’s body before batting away Dean’s hand. Without warning, Cas unceremoniously swallowed Dean’s cock down and set a brutal pace. The soft, wet heat of Cas’ mouth felt so much better than Dean’s fist and it didn’t take long for Cas to push Dean over the edge, too.

Dean reveled in the loose-limbed post-orgasm haze as Cas grabbed the nearest mug on the coffee table and spat.

“Ew. That was my coffee!” Dean protested. Cas sent him an imperious look, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and Dean sighed. Dean tucked himself back into his shorts and hauled Cas back up on to the couch. It took a few tries to rearrange themselves and to get Cas’ dirty pants off, but they ultimately settled on Dean laying on his back with Castiel on his stomach, draped over Dean’s body.

“Nora’s not here right?” Dean craned his head to examine Cas’ naked backside and Cas scoffed into Dean’s collarbone.

“No, she has the week off,” Cas looked up at Dean, “Do you really think I’d have sex in my den first thing in the morning if there was any possibility that my housekeeper could walk in on us?” Dean rolled his eyes. “Just checking, jeez,” he said sarcastically and Cas pinched him on his upper arm again. 

“Stop that!” Dean rubbed the sore spot on his arm and Cas pulled himself up to lay a heated kiss on Dean. Dean let himself be kissed, the soft push of Castiel’s lips momentarily distracting him from the pain in his arm.

“You know,” Dean said, breaking away from the kiss, “you can’t do that every time you want to get your way.”

“Yes I can,” Cas shrugged and sealed his lips over Dean’s again. He brought his hands up to frame Dean’s face and Dean melted into the touch.

“Don’t push it,” Dean whispered and pulled Cas closer as Cas resumed his thorough exploration of Dean’s mouth. It was passionate, but it was not the kind of kiss that riled Dean up; it was the kind that wrapped him up in affection and made him feel comfortable and relaxed. Dean kept meaning to ask if Cas had _experience_ in the kissing department, or if it was all natural talent, but if he was honest with himself, he was worried what the answer would be. The logical part of Dean’s brain said he shouldn’t care if Cas had kissed other people. Hell, Dean had done a lot more than kiss a lot of people before he even met Cas, and Cas barely batted an eyelash at Dean’s sexual history. But he was still anxious that these kisses from Cas, these kisses full of care and tenderness, were the product of diligent study, rather than legitimate feeling.

“So, Thanksgiving,” Cas put some space between the two of them, crossing his arms on Dean’s chest. He looked concerned as he rested his chin on his folded arms, “Should I bring something?”

“I think just bringing yourself will be enough,” Dean laughed at the look of concentration on Cas’ face. Being around Cas so much lately had made Dean forget that Cas sometimes was at a loss when it came to normal human social conventions. Now that Cas asked that question, Dean was ninety-nine percent sure Cas had been looking up Thanksgiving guest etiquette on his iPad. 

Dean ran his fingers through Cas’ hair and added, “You should probably just prepare yourself for Bobby’s particular brand of coaching.”

“What do you mean, Dean?” Cas squinted at Dean, “Did Bobby play football?”

“No,” Dean grinned, “He thinks if he yells at the TV loud enough, the players will be able to hear his _suggestions_.” 

Dean remembered the last Angels game he had watched with Bobby. There had been mostly swearing at the refs with increasing creativity and crudeness, but mixed in was the occasional pointed criticism of Castiel. Cas dropped a ball and got a “What’s that boy of yours think he’s doing? Playing soccer?”, and a “How could he not’ve see that route? Crabtree was telegraphin’ it so clearly, blind men in space coulda seen it” after missing a tackle. 

“But honestly, he probably knows everything there is to know about the sport,” Dean conceded, “He just has _opinions_ on how the game should be played.” Cas nodded thoughtfully, used to these kind of _opinions_. The entire time they’d known each other, Cas had only been recognized once when they were out together, and it had been by a boozy frat boy when Dean and Cas were walking back to Dean’s dorm from the cafeteria. He had been a cornerback on the junior varsity team in high school, and was determined to share his (mostly unsuccessful if his career trajectory was anything to go on) moves and techniques. Cas gave him a  I’m-gonna-fuck-you-up-if-you-keep-talking face, which Cas told Dean later was his standard response to this sort of behavior. 

Dean was almost looking forward to seeing Cas and Bobby together in a perverse sort of way. Bobby’d probably appreciate Cas’ straight shooting, but if it came down to a fight, Dean would put money on Cas in heartbeat. Bobby was, after all, just a big ol’ softie on the inside, and Cas was fucking terrifying when he wanted to be.

After working out the finer points of spending Thanksgiving at Bobby’s they settled into a comfortable silence, relaxing and watching the morning news. When they ran an editorial on fantasy football, Dean grinned and poked Cas in the side. Cas had picked up his iPad again and some point and set it down petulantly when Dean poked him.

Cas growled, “What is it, Dean?”

“You know,” Dean grinned goofily, “You’re the only one on _my_ fantasy team.” 

Cas blinked and tilted his head, “Dean, I don’t think that’s how fantasy football works.” Dean had been going for silly and sweet, but he guessed he had missed the mark. He opened his mouth to respond, but Cas cut him off, matter-of-factly, “You can’t pick individual defensive players in fantasy football.”

Dean tried again. “OK, fine, I’d pick the entire Angels defense, just to have you.” 

“Why would you do that? The Seahawks currently have the no. 1 ranked defense. Do you not want to win, even if it’s hypothetical?” Cas repositioned himself so that he was sitting crosslegged next to Dean. 

Dean threw up his arms and sat up, too. “Dammit, Cas, I was trying to be romantic or something. Christ!” Dean was certainly not pouting.

“Oh,” Cas looked humbled, “Thank you Dean. I suppose if there were such a thing as fantasy cheerleading, you’d be on my fantasy team. But since there’s not, I’ll guess I’ll settle with picking the real you.” Dean blushed at the sincerity of Cas’ words. Even after all this time, he was still caught off guard by Cas’ declarations that just cut straight through Dean’s bullshit and posturing. 

“Oh, that _is_ so --- yeah, uh, cheesy, man.” Dean rubbed the back of his neck. He was still trying to figure out whether his feelings for Cas had gone from ‘caring about and sexually attracted to’ to ‘full-on head-over-heels love’, and Cas saying things like that to Dean didn’t make it any easier. Dean felt like he was standing on a precipice and one small push from Cas would be all it took to get Deal to fall.

“You started it.” Cas teased and tackled Dean, distracting Dean from his inner turmoil. Dean crashed to the floor, barely missing hitting the corner of the coffee table with his head from a poorly-timed elbow jab. Despite the pain he was feeling, he laughed joyously. Cas was still terrible at play-wrestling and too often left Dean with the non-sexy kind of bruises, but he was happy that he had his naked best friend sprawled on top of him on the cold, hard floor trying to tickle him into submission. 

As far as mornings went, this one was vying for the best morning of Dean’s life, up there with the morning Sam was born and the morning he found out he was going to college on scholarships. And Dean even felt, for once, he was at a good place in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the awesome art [chargetransfer](http://chargetransfer.tumblr.com) did for this chapter! You can find her LJ [here!](http://chargetransfer.livejournal.com/5172.html)


	12. Chapter 12

When it was time to leave the peaceful sanctuary of Cas’ home for the inevitable chaos of Bobby’s, second thoughts began plaguing Dean about the whole bring-your-boyfriend-to-Thanksgiving part of the plan. 

“Cas, we don’t have to go,” Dean said, gripping the steering wheel of the Corvette. Cas thought letting Dean drive the Corvette would calm him down, but so far, it seemed to have zero effect on Dean’s stress level. They hadn’t even pulled out of Cas’ garage yet, and Dean’s heart was already pounding in his chest.

“We were invited. We’re going.” Cas stated firmly, his game face on as he coolly reached over to turn the key in the ignition. Dean was worried about what would happen if he didn’t oblige Cas, so when Cas moved back over to passenger side, Dean put the car in reverse and pulled out of the garage.

Five minutes later, and Dean’s resolve faltered again. “I could say you got the stomach flu and you’re puking your guts out,” Dean suggested weakly, and got another glare from Cas.

“Okay, okay, _I_ got the stomach flu then,” Dean offered and Cas rolled his eyes.

“Dean, we're already on the way. I’m sure you have nothing to worry about.” Cas’ demeanor said he found this whole experience was like fighting with a temperamental five year-old. And yeah, maybe Dean was acting like a child, but the whole ‘meet the family’ thing was fucking terrifying! Dean took in a deep, fortifying breath, hoping to stave off the oncoming panic attack as Cas placed a soothing hand on Dean’s shoulder and rubbed circles into Dean’s collarbone with his thumb.

“I’ve never brought anyone home before, Cas,” Dean confessed quietly, sighing. Dean hadn’t dated anyone seriously in college and even in high school, his parents had known all of his girlfriends before they had even started dating. Dean felt like he was taking a monumental step and Cas was being willfully obstinate, as he squinted confusedly at Dean.

“Come on,” Dean rolled his eyes in frustration, “Even _you_ know this is significant. This says ‘I’m in a serious relationship’ and shit.” 

“I thought we were in a ‘serious relationship’,” Cas said, complete with air quotes and a deepening frown.

“What? We are -- That’s not the point,” Dean gripped the steering wheel tighter and grit his teeth. 

Cas pursed his lips. “Then, what _is_ the point?”

“I don’t know, Cas. When you bring someone home to meet the family, it’s not just _meeting family_ ,” Dean searched for the words, “It’s, uh, well it’s like saying, ‘I want this person to be meet my family because I want them to, uh, _be_ my family’.”

“Oh,” Cas said. He pursed his lips and looked out the window, mulling over what Dean had said.

After a few minutes of tense silence, Dean added, hoping to clarify his feelings, “And my family’s never seen me like _this_ before.” John and Mary and Sam and Bobby had seen Dean with a couple girlfriends over the years, but Dean had never cared that much about any of them. He had certainly never been smitten. Not the way he was with Cas.

“So,” Cas’ tone bordered on dangerous, like they were seconds away from a fight, “With a man? Or just a professional football player?” 

“No, that’s not it. I mean, it’s true, but --” Dean groaned in frustration and Cas’ glare intensified.

“Look, Cas,” Dean started, trying to answer Cas’ question, but also explain why he is so tense about bringing _Cas_ home to meet his family.

“I spent a lot of time when I was a teenager trying to be the man my father wanted me to be. This meant I had push down all sorts of things my father wouldn’t approve of: the nerd stuff, the fashion stuff,” Cas raised his eyebrows, filing away that piece of nugget of information for future investigation, and Dean swallowed thickly before continuing, “the liking boys sometimes stuff, the _showing people I care_ stuff...” Dean emphasized the last one, hoping it sunk in.

Now that the floodgates were open and Cas made no move to interject, Dean decided to keep going, “The only thing I got to really keep of myself was the cheerleading. So, since I had to pretend I was the stoic and strong man I was supposed to be, there are things Sam just doesn’t know about me. I’m afraid he wouldn’t like me or look up to me anymore if he knows that I’m not _that_ man.”

“ _Dean_ \--”

“I know what you’re thinkin’, Cas. You wanna tell me it’s stupid to think those things. Do you think I haven’t tried to tell _myself_ that?”

“Dean, your family loves you and from what you’ve told me, it’d take nothing short of murder for them to hate you.” Cas gently placed his hand on Dean’s thigh. “You shouldn’t let your father’s ghost dictate the way you live _your_ life. Your father may not have approved of me or this relationship, but he might have also come around over time, or maybe not even cared at all. You can’t ever know how he would feel, so it’s a waste of time to guess and worry about how a dead man feels.”

“Cas --” Dean whined. It’s easy for Cas to say those things. He wasn’t the living disappointment.

Cas held up a hand and his tone softened, “And if there’s parent’s feelings you should be worried about, it should be your mother’s. She’d be proud of you for making decisions that make you happy.” 

Dean gave Cas a half-hearted grin. Even with the spectre of John’s potential disapproval hanging over him, Dean liked to think that mom would’ve been proud of him. She would have loved to see Dean cheering at KU and Kansas City Angels games. She would have been so happy to see how well Dean was doing at college. She would have gotten along so well with Castiel. Dean just knew that Mary would have doted on Cas, teased him for his wild hair and serious faces, and loved him for making her boy so happy.

“Cas, why don’t you ever talk about _your_ family?” Dean asked quietly. Thinking about his own mother, Dean couldn’t help thinking about Cas’. Cas didn’t like to talk about his mother if it could be helped, and the only thing Dean didn’t know much more about Cas’ family than he had a string of step-fathers, each even worse than the last. 

“There’s not a lot to tell. What do you want to know?” Cas sighed heavily. Dean blinked; he had expected Cas to change the subject or say nothing at all, certainly not _engage_ in the conversation.

“I dunno, man.” Dean was too surprised that Cas was actually willing to talk about his family to come up with a good question. “Uh, what was Thanksgiving like for you when you were a kid?” Dean asked, fumbling for hopefully a not-too-controversial subject.

“It depended on the step-father,” Cas answered distantly, “We did one Thanksgiving when I was about seven in a prison conjugal trailer.”

“What?!” Dean exclaimed, nearly driving them off the highway.

“He was the leader of a gang,” Cas explained neutrally, “They called themselves ‘Demons’ and he was their fallen-angel ‘Father’. His lawyer arranged for my mother and me to have a family meal with him. We came, we ate, my mother served him with divorce papers, and we left.”

Dean whistled. Dean knew Castiel had had a few fuck ups for step-fathers, but he hadn’t realized there had been _criminals_ in the mix.

“And there was time when I was about ten when my new step-father thought chocolate turkeys and lime Jell-O were acceptable courses in a Thanksgiving meal.”

“What happened to him?”

“He ran off. Didn’t even leave a note,” Castiel sighed, not quite hiding the anger and betrayal in his eyes. Dean thought it must have been pretty rough for him and his mom when this one left to get that sort of reaction from Cas.

“The worst Thanksgivings were when I was a teenager,” Cas said and Dean was beginning to think this was not such a great topic after all. ‘’My step-sister and her dad were always fighting. She was quite rebellious and had a tendency to run away, and felt that Thanksgiving was an appropriate time to discuss  why she wasn’t as loyal and obedient as me. It was a tense meal to say the least.” Dean covered Cas’ hand with his own where it was resting on Dean’s knee as Cas turned to look out the window.

“Okay, fine,” Dean said exasperatedly and Cas shot him a concerned look. “You’ve had some shitty Thanksgivings -- the least I can do is make this one not suck balls, too.” Cas smiled and flipped his hand over to lace his fingers with Dean’s.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas said as they pulled into the junkyard. Bobby must’ve gotten in the festive mood, because Dean could see a cardboard turkey and some fake leaves made from construction paper in the window of the shop. If he brought it up, Dean was sure Bobby’d blame it on Sam or one of the ladies in reception, but Dean had a feeling it was all the old man’s work. He chuckled to himself as he got out of the car and walked around to meet Cas on the passenger’s side. 

Cas was holding a shopping bag with the cranberry sauce they had been tasked with bringing, a loaf of bread, and a six-pack of Bobby’s favorite beer for good measure. 

That particular shopping trip had been _illuminating_ to say the least. They had stopped by a nearby Wal-Mart on the way back from dinner the night before, and Cas had been in awe.

“Dammit, Cas,” Dean exclaimed. They were on their second hour in the store and hadn’t gotten anything they needed. “Haven’t you ever been to a grocery store? You’re twenty-eight goddamn years old.”

“Dean,” Cas replied evenly. “Nora does most of my grocery shopping. But because you seem so interested, yes, I have been to grocery stores before. I’ve just never been to this particular chain.” He then stalked off moodily down the next aisle and Dean sulked after him. The plan was to go home and watch some TV and fool around before bed -- exploring Wal-Mart was seriously cutting into his nookie time.  

“Ooh, Dean did you know there were so many brands of breakfast cereal?” Cas asked, pointing excitedly at the box of Reese’s Puffs when Dean turned down the next aisle.

Dean looked up to the fluorescent heaven of the supermarket, shaking his head. “No, Cas, tell me about all the breakfast cereals.” After spending a good twenty minutes going over the nutritional information and discussing the pros and cons of each cereal box, Dean pressed Cas up against the nearest shelf, sucking a kiss into Cas’ neck and lining up his thigh with Cas’ groin. After a few rolls of Dean’s hips, it only took five minutes to finish up their errand and get out of the store. 

When they had gotten home, Cas had practically carried Dean upstairs, before laying him out on Cas’ giant bed and riding him fast and hard. Once they were all cleaned up, they held each other in Cas’ enormous bed while Dean told Cas about shopping trips with his mom as a kid. She would let him pick out ingredients and ride the rocket ship outside the store and help carry the lightest bags to the car. On the drive home, she would tell him how helpful he had been and let him pick the music. 

Now, looking back, in some ways he had done the same thing with Cas (though thinking of himself as Cas’ mom was just _wrong_ ) -- he had let Cas have his way and feel like he was contributing, and it had made Cas happy. Dean sometimes forgot that Cas’ relationship with his own mother didn’t include a childhood filled with loving kisses and baking pies together and unconditional support. After hearing about Cas’ disastrous Thanksgivings, Dean wanted to give him everything he had never had: a loving, if somewhat broken, family and happy holiday memories.

When Dean got to Cas on the passenger side, he trailed his hand down over Cas’ arm, staring where he knew the tips of feathers were hiding under Cas’ burgundy sweater, and ending with his hand in Cas’. Cas grinned as Dean pulled him toward the house. As Dean grasped Cas’ fingers in his, he hoped Cas realized what a big deal holding hands was as they walked to the steps to the door. 

Using his free hand, Dean knocked on the front door and got a “Why on earth are you knocking, you idjit,” yelled from inside for a reply. Cas’ grin widened as Dean rolled his eyes and opened the front door.

“Bobby, it’s me,” Dean called from the entry, “I brought Cas.” 

“Of course it’s you,” Bobby said gruffly, coming out from the kitchen, “Jody’s not expected until after five.” Bobby stopped dead in his tracks when he turned the corner and saw Cas standing next to Dean. 

“Well damn,” Bobby looked Cas up and down, awed, “It _is_ Castiel Novak.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Mr. Singer.” Cas let go of Dean’s hand to shift his groceries and shake Bobby’s hand. Cas was still having trouble with the normal handshake thing, but this one was far less stilted than the handshake he had given Dean only a couple months ago.

“Call me Bobby,” he replied, the initial shock leaving his voice. “None of this ‘Mr. Singer’ bullshit.” Bobby took the bag of groceries from Cas and handed them to Dean without even sparing him a glance. Dean rolled his eyes again, and took the bag to the kitchen counter.

Bobby continued, leading Cas into the living room, “And it’s an honor to meet the best damn cornerback the league’s seen since [Charles Woodson](%20) went back to the Raiders.”

“Most of the sports media says I’m the best since [Deion Sanders](%20),” Cas said without a trace of humor.

Bobby threw his head back and laughed. He clapped a very confused Cas on the shoulder and said, "Son, you’re alright.” 

Dean took the cranberry sauce out of the grocery bag and bit his lip to keep from laughing, too. Cas had been dead serious, as he was with all football matters, but no one had ever told Cas that most people don’t sincerely compare themselves to the greatest person of all time in their chosen profession. Bobby laughed because he thought Cas was telling a joke; Dean laughed because he knew Cas wasn’t. 

Very few things in Dean’s life were more adorable than Cas missing a joke. When it was just the two of them, Dean would usually explain why something was fun, and a look of recognition and understanding would pass over Cas’ face. Then, days later, Cas would spring the joke on Dean again, often with some modification that was all _Cas_. Dean would crack up, though more due to the proud grin on Cas’ face than the actual content of the joke.

Dean finished putting the groceries in the kitchen with a goofy grin. He then pulled off his boots, and Dean trailed after Bobby and Cas into the living room. He watched Bobby direct Cas around the humble room as he stood in the nameless space between the kitchen and the living room.

“I've known Dean since he was a snot-faced little squirt, and I love him like my own -- no, sit down here --,” Bobby pointed for Cas to sit down in the recliner before continuing seriously, “I wouldn't let just any fella off the street scoop up my boy here.” Dean blushed as Bobby continued to grill Cas. He thought, no he _knew_ , he was going to die of embarrassment before the night was over. 

“But you seem to have a decent head on your shoulders, the way Dean goes on and on about you.” 

Dean blushed harder. “I do _not_ \--” 

“And I certainly can’t fault him for going out and getting a pretty damn good NFL player for his first boyfriend,” Bobby clapped Cas on the shoulder.

“Thank you, sir,” Cas said solemnly before giving Dean a reassuring smile.

“Keep up this ‘sir’ and ‘mister’ nonsense, and I’ll hafta rescind all my compliments,” Bobby said and looked Cas seriously in the eyes, “Just don't lose to those damn Cowboys, or I might have to take it all back anyway.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about that,” The two of them laughed and Dean crossed his arms, leaning against the doorjamb, “They haven’t had a decent wide receiver since [Terrell Owens](%20). I mean, they have [Jason Witten](%20), but--” 

“Where’s Sam?” Dean interrupted petulantly, fed up with being talked about like he wasn’t there.

“He’s doing some reading for his English class,” Bobby replied and turned on the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade, “He promised he’d be down for lunch. In the meantime, why don’t you get me and Castiel here a couple of beers?”

Dean made a choked sound of protest. “It’s ten in the morning!” 

“It is,” Bobby agreed with a glint in his eyes, “and if you don’t stop your bellyachin’ and get to cookin’, we won’t eat before midnight.” Dean squinted hard at Bobby, a look he had picked up from spending so much time with Cas, and stormed off into the kitchen. He wrenched the refrigerator door open and as he was reaching for the beer, he felt Cas’ broad, strong hands on his waist and Cas’ breath on his ear.

“Bobby loves you very much,” Cas whispered and Dean stood up to face him, the tops of his ears hot and flushed from Cas’ proximity.

“He has a funny way of showing it,” Dean grumbled and handed Cas the beers. Cas put his hands around Dean’s where they held the bottles and leaned in to give him a soft and reassuring kiss, hiding them partially behind the still-open refrigerator door. Dean let himself be pulled in by Cas’ kiss, enjoying the comforting feel of Cas’ lips on his, before pulling back abruptly.

“Bobby might see,” Dean whispered harshly, pushing the beers into Cas’ hands. 

“Bobby can hear you,” Bobby hollered from the living room, “and he doesn’t care about your smoochin’. Just bring me my beer before Santa gets here.” Dean’s face turned bright red and Cas chuckled lightly. Cas gave him a light peck and returned to the living room to enjoy the parade with Bobby while Dean started cooking.

Dean pulled the turkey out of the sink where it had been left to defrost the day before. As he cut away the plastic wrapping and started prepping the bird for dinner, he spied Cas and Bobby deeply engrossed in conversation. Knowing Cas and Bobby, and seeing how animated Bobby was, it could’ve been anything from football statistics to Russian literature to current politics. 

Sam rumbled down the stairs a few minutes later and stopped short when he saw Cas in the recliner. Dean laughed to himself as Sam breathlessly gaped at Cas.

“Oh my God. It’s you,” Sam said, staring at Cas like the President of the United States had beamed down into Bobby’s living room, “It’s, uh, it’s an honor to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.” Sam put out his hand to shake, and Castiel put his hand in Sam’s at a weird angle and lightly shook it, making him two-for-two in awkward handshakes with Dean’s family for the day.

“And I you, Sam,” Cas smiled up at Sam, “I’m glad to hear you’ve ceased your extracurricular activities.” Sam frowned at Cas, unsure of what Cas meant.

“You know, your bout with public intoxication,” Cas supplied matter-of-factly. Dean chuckled to himself in the kitchen as Sam pulled a face. 

“Um, okay,” Sam said, sitting down on the couch with Bobby between him and Cas. Bobby snickered at Sam’s response.

Being around Cas for so long had made Dean forget what it’s like to meet Castiel for the first time. Bobby doesn’t put up with any shit, so it’s easy for him to navigate Cas’ brand of straightforward oddity. But Sam? Dean thought that when he met Cas in July, he must have looked a lot like Sam, that mixture of confusion and horror on his face.

As Bobby, Sam and Cas settled in to watch the parade, Dean looked on from the kitchen, the tell-tale prickle of tears starting traitorously just between his eyes. Two years ago, he had thought that losing his parents was the end of his and Sam’s family -- they had each other, but their family was forever broken beyond repair. Instead, Bobby’s role expanded in their lives, filling in most of the cracks, and now Dean had Cas to fill in the rest. Looking at his family in the living room, seeing Cas slipping in with only a few minor road bumps, made Dean feel whole in a way he hadn’t since his parents died. 

Cas looked up just as Dean wiped away an errant tear. He excused himself from Sam and Bobby, and got up to meet Dean in the kitchen.

“Can I help?” Cas asked, touching Dean’s arm gently. Like Cas’ house, there were no walls between the kitchen and the living room, so he appreciated Cas refraining from kissing Dean in plain view of Bobby and Sam. But the small touch and question were enough of a gesture to calm the hurricane of Dean’s emotions.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Dean asked skeptically in response. Dean had seen Cas cook before. While Cas could boil pasta and use the rice cooker without a problem, any dish requiring a recipe was bound to end in disaster at Cas’ hands. Dean had learned pretty quickly that Cas didn’t didn’t do well with things he couldn’t figure out immediately or will into submission with an icy glare. 

“Maybe I’ll just watch,” Cas conceded, “But I’d like to stay in the kitchen if you don’t mind.”

Dean shook his head, smiling, “Just stay out of my way, and you’ll be fine.” Cas took a seat at the kitchen table not too far from Dean, but where he could also see the TV and participate in the conversation in the living room. Dean had him do small tasks from time to time, like taking the biscuits out of their cardboard tube and putting them on a cookie sheet, or holding various implements and utensils when Dean needed an extra hand. With Sam and Bobby out of the kitchen, and the little extra help from Cas, the process of cooking Thanksgiving dinner was the smoothest it had been in years. 

Dinner was served halfway through the Cowboys-Raiders game, so the four of them brought their plates to the living room and crowded around the TV to watch the second half of the game. Bobby and Sam took the couch and Cas the recliner, which left Dean sitting on the floor in front of Cas. Though it was hell on his ass and spine, Dean liked that he could rest his plate on the coffee table rather than trying to balance in on his knees, and every now and then Cas would drop a hand on Dean’s head, or knock Dean’s shoulder gently with his knee. He also liked that when they were done eating, Sam got stuck with clean up duty (“Cas is a guest and Dean cooked, so you’re cleanin’,” as Bobby’d put it) and nothing was better than hearing Sam bitch and whine about doing the dishes.

Sheriff Jody Mills stopped by with pie while Sam and Dean were cleaning up the kitchen. Dean’d gotten roped in when Sam had given the turkey carcass a look of abject horror. Dean _hated_ dealing with the rest of the turkey, with the bones and juices and general mess that always seemed to get all over him. Dean reasoned that Sam didn’t need to know any of that, so he put on a brave face and convinced Jody to dispose of the carcass when Sam went to the bathroom.

Jody’s pumpkin pie was a big hit, and there was hardly any left after five generous slices were doled out the assembled group. She only let Cas have a piece after he answered questions about his “intentions” toward Dean. 

“Stop treatin’ Cas like he’s a suitor come to call,” Dean groused after Jody interrogated Cas about his financial solvency and whether he was going to go bankrupt the second he retired.

“I don’t mind, Dean,” Cas said as he scooted next to Dean on the couch. He lined up their legs and put a hand on Dean’s knee.

“Well, I don’t like being treated like a princess in a tower while y’all decide whether Cas’s good enough,” Dean said angrily around a mouthful of pie.

“There there princess,” Bobby said and Dean bristled, “Hush up and eat your pie, and we’ll lay off Castiel.” Dean grumbled an okay and for the rest of the evening, everyone went a little easier on Dean. When Dean walked Jody to her cruiser, she even had another pie in the back waiting for him, this time a pecan, and Dean immediately forgave her for grilling Cas.

Dean and Castiel left not too long after that. Sam and Bobby both gave Cas hugs, and Dean laughed to himself as Cas awkwardly patted Sam on the shoulder.

Dean graciously let Cas drive his own car home to Mission Hills after dinner, claiming he was too full to drive back, and the ride back was much less fraught than the ride there. The ride was mostly comfortable silence, only punctuated by Cas chuckling at Dean’s gripes about his full stomach and repeated moans of “Why did you let me eat so much?”

Overall, it was the happiest Thanksgiving meal Dean could remember, and certainly the best since losing his parents. Sure, he had been teased mercilessly, but there was a lightness to the evening and Dean thought maybe Cas had something to do with that. The last two Thanksgivings had been disasters, with the spectre of loss and pain hanging over the holiday as Dean and Sam tried to navigate their changing relationship with Bobby. Though the presence of guests didn’t usually make Bobby any less gruff or make Sam pick any fewer fights, both of them were on their best behavior with Cas there. Sam still whined about doing the dishes and Bobby still cursed at Dean for “bein’ a damn fool” a few times, but there was no sniping or arguing, no ruined dishes or forgotten ingredients, and no _this isn’t what Mom did_ to bring everyone down. Instead, Bobby had talked Cas’ ear off about the best ways to interrupt pass plays. Sam had picked Cas’ brain for tips on applying to colleges and playing a collegiate sport, comparing the football scouting process to the one for basketball. And Dean had taken every possible opportunity grab Cas’ ass and wink at him when no one was looking. 

Dean looked at Cas from his vantage point in the passenger seat and laughed to himself at Cas’ intense focus as he drove. Dean felt his stomach do a flip; since when did he think of Cas’ as _home_? Dean felt his face burn, and he turned to look out the window, hoping Cas didn’t see. Some time when he wasn’t paying attention, the future he’d always imagined changed from a wife and kids in the suburbs to Cas arguing with Bobby in front of the Christmas tree, Cas hiding eggs in the junkyard for Sam’s progeny at Easter, Cas’ face illuminated by sparklers on the Fourth of July, and Cas looking devastatingly handsome in a tux, with a simple gold band on his finger.

“Hey Cas,” Dean said, his voice only barely cracking. He was finally going to do it: he was going to tell Cas that he loved him. He was going to tell Cas that he couldn’t imagine being without him. He’d die of mortification a little, but it would be okay because surely Cas loved him too? Dean’s stomach gave another anxious flip.

“What is it, Dean?” Cas asked, never taking his eyes off the road. 

“I just need to talk to you about something when we get ho-- back to your place.” Dean fiddled with his seatbelt and Castiel frowned.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Dean replied, “I just gotta a few things to say, and I just want to look you in the eye when I say them.” Dean chuckled, “And you won’t tear your eyes away from the road an instant when you’re driving.”

“I’m sorry that I think vehicular safety is important,” Cas said, sounding not at all sorry, “but --”

“I was just teasing Cas.” Dean’s hand found its way to Cas’ knee and Cas’ expression softened at the touch.

“Okay,” Cas said and Dean could see the corner of his mouth turning up, “We’ll talk at home.”

 


	13. Chapter 13

Cas cut off the engine to the car once they were parked in the garage, and Dean tried to fight the butterflies in his stomach and the lump in his throat. They walked silently into Cas’ house through the kitchen, dropping off leftover groceries and Dean’s pie on the way. As soon as Cas shucked off his coat and shoes, he made a frustrated face at Dean.

“Dean, you left the TV on,” Cas said, exasperated, as Dean stumbled into the kitchen.

“How do you know _you_ didn’t leave the TV on?” Dean shot back and got an epic eye roll in return.

Dean was still pulling off his boots as Cas went to the den to turn off the TV. One shoe off, he looked up to see Cas go completely rigid, fuming at the TV. Dean yanked off his other boot and walked into the den, only to be stopped dead in his tracks by the sportscasters’ topic of conversation.

“... Kansas City Angels cornerback, Castiel Novak is rumored to have a boyfriend,” the sports anchor reported, “Our source says that his lover is a member of the Angels collegiate squad from the University of Kansas.” A picture of Dean and Cas at a restaurant flashed up on the screen. Most of Dean was hidden from view, but it was pretty clear that they were holding hands in the picture. Next, they showed a much clearer picture of Cas with Dean, this time with Dean in a KU Cheerleading tee, from their trip to the zoo a few weeks prior. Picture after picture flashed across the screen: pictures from their date at the ballet, from the intramural flag football game, even one of them in Cas’ backyard.

“With his contract up at the end of this season,” the other anchor took over, “the twenty-eight year-old player will be a free agent. How do you think these rumors will affect his contract negotiations?” The other panelists begun discussing the potential fallout, some saying it shouldn’t matter since Castiel is the best in the league. One argued especially vehemently that _this revelation_ would make an uncomfortable locker room and no team wanted to deal with that. 

Dean felt like he was hovering over his body and watching this mess unfold. The last thing he wanted was to be _exposed_ like this; now everyone knew about his _thing_ with guys. Dean sucked in lungfuls of air but it didn’t seem to be enough. Why couldn’t he breathe? He could feel himself shaking

Dean felt a firm hand on his shoulder and he flinched.

“ _Dean_ ,” Cas said urgently, waving his cellphone in Dean’s face. From his tone, it was clear this wasn’t the first time he had called Dean’s name. “I need to call my agent.” Castiel looked furious, white-knuckling his phone. Dean distantly thought that if Cas gripped the phone any tighter, it would surely break.

“Okay,” Dean heard himself say and Cas turned to give him a pained look. Sadness, betrayal, and fury all warred for dominance in Cas’ eyes. 

“Oh! You want me to go?” Dean was hurt. Dean wanted just one small touch from Cas, one tiny morsel of comfort, but Cas seemed to intent on denying him any meaningful physical contact.

“I don’t _want_ you to go,” Cas averted his eyes, “but I think it might be for the best.” 

Dean blinked in shock. He felt wholly disconnected from what was happening, like someone else was nodding his head and making him walk up to Cas’ bedroom. He threw his clothes and glasses into his duffel on autopilot, and before he knew what had happened, he was downstairs, packed and ready to go.

“Dean, I’m sorry,” Cas said once Dean had come back down to the den. Cas’ brow furrowed and he continued, “I have no idea how this got out.”

“I mean,” Dean swallowed thickly, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice, “It’s not like we were _hiding_ it. But I still feel a little violated, you know? Some of those pictures -- Cas, someone had to have been following us. Hell, there were some _in your backyard_!” Dean could the panic creeping into his voice as he spoke and Cas looked downright murderous. Dean actually felt a little lighter seeing that look on Cas’ face; that look meant Cas’ agent was going to get an earful, and probably whoever had taken and sold those pictures as well.

“I’ll call you as soon as I get this fixed,” Cas said. He wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist and tucked his chin over Dean’s shoulder. Cas’ careful control was back in place; Dean could feel it in his gentle embrace, in the way he seemed to be fighting an internal battle. Dean dropped his duffel and wrapped his own arms firmly and desperately around Cas, willing time to turn back, wishing they were back at Bobby’s and this gross breach of privacy had never happened. 

Dean tried to make the hug last as long as possible, but eventually Cas gently pushed him away. Dean took Cas face in his hands and kissed him desperately, trying to put all his whirling emotions in this one kiss. Cas barely kissed back, but slowly peeled Dean’s fingers from his face, and Dean choked out a sob. He led Dean to the door stoically and gave him a quick, chaste peck before closing the front door in Dean’s face.

Dean couldn’t help but feel that the door was also closing on a part of Dean’s life.

\---

The longer Cas didn’t call, the worse Dean felt. 

He tried to put as much of his anxious energy as possible into taking a step back and piecing together the series of events that caused this speed bump in their relationship. 

He also tried to figure out who had been following them and why, and how they’d gotten into Cas’ backyard undetected. He first thought Nora might have been in on it, but the reverent way she talked about Cas and how he was a great boss made it pretty clear she was loyal only to Cas. The only other people who knew about them would never sell them out like that. Sam and Bobby would die before hurting Dean, and Charlie and Benny (no matter how much he disliked Cas) had always fervently kept Dean’s secrets. 

Dean’s emotions roiled. It didn’t help that every time Dean turned around, he saw a TV with a slideshow of those stupid pictures with shit like “Mysterious Gay LOVER?” superimposed over them. Then, they’d cut to Naomi Novak on the PR war path, explaining that he and Cas were very good friends and denouncing those who would jump to conclusions about their relationship. Then she would change the subject, pointing out how great Cas had been playing this season and highlighting the fact that we would be a great asset to any team when his contract was up. 

It pissed Dean off every damn time she opened up her mouth. What she was saying wasn’t _not_ true, per se, but it was just _this shy_ of the truth to be believable, even to _Dean_. It really was PR _art_ , but Dean couldn’t help but feel a little part of Cas leave him with every one of Naomi’s public appearances. 

Worst of all, now _everyone_ knew. All of his friends. All of his professors. His coaches. Random people on the street. _Everyone_.

The fact that he was, well, _bisexual_ , was a secret that he had locked up tight inside, covered with chains and cement and buried so deep that no one would _ever_ know. He couldn’t pretend to be man his father wanted him to be, the man he was _supposed_ to be -- not with everyone having a good idea about his bedroom activities. Before this whole mess, he could count on one hand the number of people who knew _about him_ : Charlie and Benny either figured it out on their own or through Dean’s penchant for drunken confessions, and Sam and Bobby didn’t know all the details about Dean’s “best of both worlds” sexuality but did know Cas. 

Lisa at least tried to make Dean feel better when she told him casually at practice that she had guessed Dean liked men when they dated, saying casually that his _interest_ in Dr. Sexy had been a dead giveaway. When she brought it up, even with the best of intentions, Dean felt like his whole field of vision narrowed down to a single point and someone had placed a shit-ton of bricks on his chest. He gasped desperately for air and groped for a place to sit down for a few minutes. Lisa apologized profusely and offered to take him out for an after practice dinner, but the damage was done.

Even with the support of his friends, Dean felt constantly on edge. His short conversation with Lisa proved that he just on the brink of a panic attack, just barely getting from class to class and practice to practice without going into total meltdown. It had almost come to a head a few times, when people on campus starting to recognize him as _the cheerleader_ from Castiel Novak’s torrid affair. 

But the most upsetting part of the whole ordeal for Dean was being in crisis mode without his best friend to talk to. He worried about how Cas was dealing with the _scandal_ (he hated that they kept calling their relationship a _scandal_ ), but Dean was obviously not handling things well, and there was no Cas to help him through it.  

Even after almost a week, there was still no word from Castiel. No call on his way to work to complain about chain coffee shops. No afternoon text about whatever he had read in the news. No call before bed, discussing the nature of humanity before wishing Dean a goodnight. No e-mails. No letters. No smoke signals. No communication whatsoever. Dean had gotten used to just _talking_ to Cas: whether it was sharing good news or ranting about something or discussing politics or religion or science or philosophy or _whatever_. 

And his heart broke to think that the one person he had ever loved _so much_ (who wasn’t related by blood or Bobby) maybe didn’t feel the same way. 

Dean didn’t have just the frustration and panic that came with the whole Cas situation to deal with, but also a ton of other things to worry about. Finals were scant weeks away, he needed to pack up all his essentials to bring home for winter break, the UCA Nationals in January were barreling down on him, and he hadn’t even finished his Christmas shopping for Bobby and Sam. 

Cas finally called the first Friday of December. It’d only been just over a week since Dean’d heard from Cas, and he almost dropped his phone on the cheap linoleum of his dorm floor in his haste to answer the call. Finally, _finally_ , they would talk about how they get past all this craziness. Finally, they could see each other again and Dean could talk to his friend again and they could go back to the way things were before.

“Cas,” Dean breathed, excitement evident in his voice. He felt like he was going to fly apart in a million directions at once, pacing back and forth in the small confines of his dorm room.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel spoke without a hint of emotion. 

Dean knew immediately something wasn’t right. “So, what’s the news?” Dean asked, trying to sound casual. His heart was beating so loudly, he wouldn’t have been surprised if Castiel heard it over the phone.

“Dean,” Castiel sighed, “My mother has moved back in with me for the time being. We’ve agreed that she is best equipped to mitigate this situation. I think it might be for the best that we spend some time apart while this … _incident_ blows over.”

He sat down on the edge of his futon couch and jiggled his leg nervously. “What?” Dean asked. If Castiel replied, Dean didn’t know; he couldn’t hear anything over the ringing in his ears. The mixed emotions of frustration and loss and exposure that had been brewing in his gut for the past week turned to anger.

“So this is how it is, then?” Dean sneered, “You do whatever _mom_ tells you to do? Dammit Cas, you’re a grown-ass adult. You can make your own decisions.” Dean knew he was shouting, but he couldn’t give a shit if he tried. He could feel Cas slipping away from him, and though the rational part of his brain said yelling at him wasn’t going to get him to stay, he couldn’t fight the rising tide of emotion. "So I guess it was first chance away from mom, and you decided to experiment with a male cheerleader.”

"You are _not_ an experiment, Dean," Cas said emphatically before sighing deeply. Dean heard nothing but Cas soft breathing on the other end of the line for several seconds. 

"Is that what this is- what I am to you?" Cas’ voice cracked and Dean’s heart broke. Dean wished Cas was there with him. He could make Cas stop this if only he could look at Cas. He could convince Cas how he felt if only he could touch Cas. Dean was surprised to realize that so much of their communication was in the way they looked at each other, and missing those non-verbal clues in this moment of intense emotion was killing him. 

“No, of course not,” Dean said, putting as much of his feeling as possible into those four words. “But how do you think this sounds to me? How _I_ feel?! You’re just _dropping_ me at the first sign of trouble. Dammit, Cas, everyone _knows_ now, about me --.”

“Knows what about you, Dean?” Cas asked, finally some of his own anger rearing its ugly head, “That you like men? As you would say, ‘boo hoo grow up’.”

“Cas --” Dean breathed, feeling like he had been slapped. 

“My mother thinks -- no,” Cas paused, and Dean was sure he was collecting himself on the other end of the line, “ _I_ think I need to focus on my performance. _I_ think this course of action is for the best.” 

Dean opened his mouth to argue, but Cas beat him to the punch. “This is what’s best for both of us,” Cas said as if he was also willing himself to believe it. “Please know that I’ve enjoyed our time together, Dean.”

“Cas, please don’t.” Dean pleaded. Cas was leaving him and there was nothing he could do about it. Cas was going to walk away, and nothing Dean could say would stop him. At that realization, he felt like he had swallowed a whole swarm of Cas’ bees and they were trying to force their way out through Dean’s chest. 

“I wish you all the best with your cheerleading and your studies.” 

“Cas, stop,” Dean said, going for broke, “I lo -- “

“Goodbye, Dean.” Cas hung up before Dean could say another word.

\---

After Cas hung up on him, Dean went to Benny’s. He couldn’t remember calling Benny or going to Benny’s off-campus apartment, but he at least at the foresight in his shell shocked state to pack an overnight bag. He spent Friday and Saturday nights on Benny’s couch, his head on Benny’s lap as he cried himself to sleep. 

As grateful as Dean was to Benny for letting him have his emotional breakdown during prime dating nights, Dean’s stomach twisted painfully anytime he saw Benny. Benny had done little to disguise his distaste of Cas before, and now he wore a look of barely-concealed pity and righteous indignation on his face. Dean could see an _I told you so_ on Benny’s lips when they talked, but he was grateful every time that Benny kept it to the occasional _you deserve better_. 

Benny also thankfully had the foresight to hide Dean’s phone for the duration of his stay, preventing Dean from leaving any teary pleas on Cas’ voicemail. He called Bobby when Dean first arrived, making up some story about why Dean was staying with him and had no use of his cell. In case of emergency, Bobby had Benny’s cell number, and Dean was just relieved that Benny didn’t tell Bobby that he and Cas were broken up. Dean had no idea how he was going to break that news to the Angels’ number one fan. 

The next Sunday was an Angels home game and Dean was completely useless. At this point, Dean was suffering the physical consequences of his break up more than the emotional ones. Dean’s muscles ached from a combination of frequent sobbing and sleeping on Benny’s lumpy couch. His head throbbed and his nose was stopped up completely and the bags under his eyes practically had their own zip code. He feigned a cold, which fortunately kept him from tumbling or participating in stunts (they moved him from being a base to being a spotter), but it didn’t get him out of the game entirely. He moved on muscle memory alone for most of the game, his mind completely shut down. He didn’t even know what team the Angels played.

He tried to focus on the game to take his mind off his body’s soreness and his heart’s numbness, but he kept catching himself staring at Cas. His brain knew that their friendship and their relationship both were effectively over, but his body had gotten used to being drawn to Castiel and didn’t seem to want to quit anytime soon. Dean noticed, when he could take a look, that Castiel seemed to play the same as ever, though he might have taken fewer risks and not pushed himself as hard to make a play. He still had that fierceness and determination that had captivated Dean before they had even met, but Castiel’s eyes were duller and his body language was even more closed off than usual.

To Dean, seeing Castiel slightly out of it was as good as seeing most people completely off their game. He hoped it was a sign that Cas was just as miserable as he was, and his friend’s demeanor would suddenly change in realization that he had made a terrible mistake. He would suddenly run over to tell Dean how sorry he was, how it was all Naomi’s doing, how much he had missed Dean. 

Instead, when the team ran back through the tunnel for halftime, he ran on the opposite side from Dean. When the second half started up, Castiel stood as far away from the cheerleaders as possible, even earning the ire of his coaches for wandering too far away on the sidelines. He nearly crashed into Dean and a few other cheerleaders during one tackle of a wide receiver and he refused to even look Dean’s way when he got himself up off the turf. 

Each time Castiel ignored him, Dean wanted to march up to Cas, shake him and force his attention onto Dean. He wanted to rail against Cas about the whole break up thing, his shutting Dean out of his life. He wanted to yell at Cas that they were stronger together, there wasn’t anything they couldn’t deal with together. He wanted to ask Cas why his mother was intervening and about what part she was playing in this _scandal_ and its resolution.

Above all, he just wanted to talk to Cas. He wanted to talk about everything and nothing and tell jokes and laugh for hours and spill all of his deepest, darkest secrets to the man who always accepted him unconditionally. Cas had looked into the darkness in Dean before and told Dean he was beautiful. Dean needed Cas to do the same now when he was hurting the most. Dean needed help from his _friend_ , and it was hopeless. 

The game ended and the Angels lost, and Dean couldn’t have cared less. Before meeting Cas and falling for him, Dean would have taken the loss as a personal failing: maybe he didn’t root hard enough or wear his hat right or hold his food in the right positions. Today however, despite loving the game and loving the team, Dean found himself completely disinterested in the outcome. If he was honest with himself, some dark part of him was glad they lost; Cas gave him up to focus on football and the first game post-Dean, he royally sucked. Dean felt vindicated, and he hated himself for feeling that way.

Finally, after Dean and his fellow cheerleaders gathered up their pom poms, megaphones and other paraphernalia, they made their way through the underground tunnels of Red Bull Field to the waiting team bus. They were halfway to the exit when they ran into a group of Angels making their way to the locker room. Dean was twenty feet away from the group of players, and had Lisa and Benny between him and them, but his eyes still met Cas’ as Cas turned to look at the group. Dean’s earlier assessment of Cas’ demeanor was confirmed when he looked into Cas’ eyes, which were usually sparkling with intelligence and intensity, but now were dull and blank and hard. It didn’t take long for Cas to break their eye contact, turning the other way to stare blankly at the opposite wall. 

He took one step in Cas’ direction, thinking maybe he could pull Cas into that alcove where they first kissed and work through their problems, but was cut short by some offensive lineman, Uriel something-or-other, shouting, “Hey Castiel, isn’t that your cheerleader boytoy?” 

Something flashed in Cas’ eyes, dark and furious, and Dean watched him push it down as quickly as it rose up. Cas composed himself and chuckled at Uriel, saying something Dean couldn’t make out to the other player. Dean could tell Cas was going through the motions as much as he was, but Cas’ quiet acknowledgement of the remark made Dean’s blood run cold. He picked up the pace, breaking free from the group of cheerleaders and practically running all the way back to the bus. He waited for the rest of the team to catch up, holding back tears of frustration and grief. Once he got on the bus, sandwiched in the back between the solid wall of Benny and the comforting arms of Lisa, he started shaking uncontrollably, and didn’t stop until he was back in his dorm room, still in his jeans and t-shirt, with his blankets pulled over his head.


	14. Chapter 14

Even though it was called winter break, it didn’t feel like much of a break to Dean. He might not have had any classes, but his time off quickly filled up with tri-weekly cheerleading practices and a rigorous workout regimen. Despite the fact that the KU football team didn’t make a bowl game, Dean still had plenty of cheering for other KU teams on his plate, with a couple of men’s and women’s basketball games in late-December and early-January. Then there was the Large Coed Team Cheer competition at UCA Nationals looming large and only a few short weeks away. 

If Dean was honest with himself, though, he was grateful for the intense practices and basketball games that kept that his mind from wandering too much. It was all too easy for his mind to drift to Cas, and the seeming omnipresence of the Kansas City Angels only served as a painful reminder. 

It had been two seemingly endless weeks since Cas shut Dean out of his life, when the Angels [clinched the division](%20) in their game against the Titans with one more game to go in the regular season. After Manning went down with broken collarbone the first week in December, the Broncos were more or less out of the running, which had practically guaranteed the Angels a playoff berth. All that left for Dean and the other collegiate cheerleaders was one more home game the weekend after Christmas, and then they were done for the season. Earlier in the season, Cas had teased Dean as he whined that it wasn’t fair that the collegiate cheerleaders weren’t going to be used for playoff games, but now Dean was just glad that this whole mess of an experiment was almost over.

That’s not to say Dean had given up on Cas, or stopped trying to get Cas to talk to him. He still called Cas’ cell at least twice a day, leaving messages to let Cas know how much he needed him. Sometimes he’d leave a message about one of the stupid things they’d used to talk about. One time he conceded that Cas was right about how Star Wars was a hero’s journey after reading the Power of Myth. Another time he told Cas about a documentary on orca whales that he knew would rile Cas up and send Cas on a crusade against Sea World. Then there were days where all Dean would talk about was Sam and Bobby: how Sam’s school was going, that Sam’s basketball team was shaping up to be the best the school’d seen in a long time, Bobby’s increasing irritation with people not knowing what to do with their cars when the weather turned cold, and his embarrassingly cute crush on the sheriff. 

And on the days when his desperation reached its breaking point, Dean would yell at Cas, filling up his voicemail with cries of how stupid he was for giving them up. 

All of his messages ended about the same way: “I know you think that I'm pissed at you, okay? But I just want to talk to you. We'll work it out. Please, man, I need you here. Cas, call me.” There was always room on Cas’ voicemail, and Dean clung to the hope that Cas was listening to each message he left, instead of just deleting of them on sight. 

He had even driven out to Cas’ Mission Hills home shortly after his last final exam, but Naomi (God, Dean hoped it was Naomi) had revoked Dean’s permission to enter the neighborhood. Dean had tried pleading to be let in, but the gatekeeper, a short rotund man named Ronald who was always telling Dean his conspiracy theories, refused him on the grounds that only those with express permission from one of the neighborhood’s residents were allowed in. On his drive back to Lawrence, Dean filled Cas’ voicemail with a piece of his mind, ranting half the way home about being kept out of anywhere by _Ronald_ (but mostly about having to listen to the gatekeeper talk for half an hour about the inevitability of invading robots hordes).

In a moment of crushing despair, Dean had even tried to communicate with Castiel through prayer; he prayed directly to Cas, hoping Cas could hear Dean all the way in Mission Hills or in Cleveland for the game against the Browns or wherever Cas was hiding from Dean. Castiel answer Dean’s prayers only once, and it was in one especially vivid dream. 

Castiel had appeared magically in Dean’s room, the whoosh of wings announcing his presence. He wore the oversized suit and rumpled trenchcoat that he had once donned to Dean’s cheer practice in July, and fixed Dean with an intense and heated stare. Dean quickly crossed the small space between them and threw his arms around his best friend. They kissed passionately, all tongues and teeth and wet heat and the scrape of stubble against Dean’s lips and chin and neck. Dean gently pulled off Cas’ trenchcoat and suit, carefully and purposefully pushing each button through their respective hole. Even in his dream, Dean wanted to make it last as long as possible as if it were his last chance to see Castiel, his last chance to touch him. Then, before Dean even finished Cas’ shirt, he was suddenly naked and being dragged down down to the cold, tiled floor of Dean’s dorm room by his eager Angel. The last thing he remembered was Cas’ too blue eyes staring down at him, before abruptly waking up sticky and suddenly empty in the middle of the night in his room at Bobby’s, unable to fall back asleep.

To make matters worse, whenever he laid on his side on his bed, he could see Cas’ Christmas gift perched on his desk -- the desk Dean and Bobby had built together right after John disappeared the first time -- mocking him.

Dean had bought the damn thing before everything went to hell between them, and the sight of it only served to punish Dean for believing that he and Cas would still be together at Christmas. Every time Dean caught a glimpse of the gift, he felt so stupid for even thinking it up. It wasn’t very big or special, just a small wrapped box containing a membership to the Kansas City Zoo, a coupon for one home-cooked fancy meal, and a pair of socks with bees on them. But even at his lowest moments, he couldn’t bring himself to throw it away. It had made it as far as his waste basket more than once, but he always fished it out shortly after. 

Looking at the gift also brought up a niggling thread of guilt. Christmas was only a few days away, and Dean had barely participated in the traditional Christmas activities. He had been sullen and lethargic when Bobby and Sam had coaxed him out of his room to put up the tree. He had been so useless when they were hanging the lights outside that Bobby had banished him to the living room. He had barely made it out to Kansas City between finals to shop for Bobby and Sam, coming back with an ancient tome on angelic lore for Bobby and NBA 2K14 for Sam. Though there were plenty of places to shop in Lawrence, Dean preferred the distraction of driving on the open road and getting out of the sometimes stifling feeling of small-town life. He also had to get away from the false cheer and worry that Dean was met with every time he talked to Sam or Bobby.

Telling Sam and Bobby that Cas dumped was one of the hardest things he’d ever done. He couldn’t believe that he was even putting losing Cas in the same _league_ as the daily shitstorm that was life in high school, and the oh-so-perfect capping it off with two dead parents, but he couldn’t help but compare that old grief to his fresh wound. Of course, Sam and Bobby had been understanding and supportive, and Dean was grateful for it, but if he had to face one more pitying look, he was going to lose it.

On Christmas Eve, Dean lounged around in sweats and a t-shirt in his room at Bobby’s house after a grueling workout. After making the ten minute drive back to Bobby’s from KU, Dean’d taken a long shower that had Sam grumbling about using up all the hot water, and had just settled down to try to get some recreational reading done before making dinner. 

Even freshly showered and tucked away in his old room, Dean still felt listless and scatterbrained, rereading the same page over and over again. On his third try to get through one page, he heard the doorbell ring. He didn’t know if Bobby or Sam was expecting anyone, and he was surprised when he heard Bobby bellow up the stairs, “Dean, it’s for you!” 

Dean grabbed his bookmark and marked his place before leaving his room. He ambled down the stairs, not bothering to change out of his sweatpants, his hair still damp from his post-workout shower. When he reached the bottom step, he saw Bobby standing in the entryway, sizing up a formidable looking woman in a dark suit. Her brown hair was pulled back into a perfect bun at the nape of her neck, and Dean had a feeling that the state of her hair reflected her personality. Dean could tell she was going for warm and caring, with her slight smile and open stance, though she projected almost military-like control and power, like she was used to being in charge of a lot of people. Dean felt his world shift the moment he saw her; it was Naomi Novak.

“This woman says she’s here to talk to you,” Bobby said, never taking his eyes off Naomi. 

“Um, okay,” Dean said, “Why’re you here?” The three of them still stood in the cramped entry way, neither Dean nor Bobby making a move to invite her in further.

“I’m here to help you, Dean,” she replied, “Can we talk somewhere in private?” Dean looked to Bobby and Bobby gave him a curt nod. 

Dean brought Naomi up to his room and ushered her in while he closed the door. She looked around Dean’s room, taking in the movie posters on his walls and the dirty clothes on his floor without judgement, but with careful interest.

“We haven’t been formally introduced, Dean,” she smiled and held out her hand for Dean to take, “My name is Naomi.”

“Yeah, I know who you are,” Dean said coolly, taking a step backward and refusing her offer for a handshake. Naomi cocked her head, and Dean’s heart ached seeing such a familiar Cas-like mannerism on a strange face. She put on a patronising smile and retracted her hand like she had meant for Dean not to shake her hand all along.

Dean continued, suddenly feeling emboldened, “And I know what you’re doing to Cas.”

“You mean, saving his career?” She asked matter-of-factly. Going by her tone and expression, she could think of no other plausible explanation for her behavior. 

“You’re not saving his career,” Dean said firmly, his frustration with Cas and the situation seeping into his voice, “You, you talked to him and screwed with his _head_.” He didn’t know what she had done to Cas, but he knew she had to have decided that Cas and Dean had to break up. What other explanation was there? How else could Cas go from “Best Thanksgiving Ever” to “we can’t see each other anymore”?

“Well, yes I have spoken with Castiel many times. He _is_ my son after all. All I want to do is help him.” Over the course of their brief conversation, she had already lost the apparent kindness of her introduction, but she retained the measured looks of reasonability and professionality. Desperation seeped into Dean’s bones as she wielded logic and motherly affection as weapons against Dean’s fragile defenses. Dean opened and shut his mouth a twice, trying to put words to the swirling emotions in his chest.

“Dean, you must have noticed how different he’s been this season.” She continued on despite Dean’s struggle for speech, “I mean, he's been flighty and impulsive in the past, but I was shocked at how unpredictable --.”

“Stop, okay?” Dean interrupted, “Cas has played the best fucking season of his career.” Dean’s heart raced and blood pounded in his ears. Naomi regarded him with detached disinterest as he tried to keep his emotions in check. 

“Going out and having fun and not being a twenty-eight year-old shut-in hasn’t hurt his career one bit and you, and I, and Cas all know it,” Dean argued and Naomi sighed deeply. 

“But you have,” she stated simply, and Dean’s heart stopped. “He had a spectacular season and then suddenly all your little _outings_ go public and he plays the worst game of his career. It’s clear he can’t handle this sort of relationship. Really, I’m just looking out for _you_.” 

Dean was at a loss for words.

“I know how you feel, Dean,” she said with a surprising amount of real emotion, “You're hoping Castiel will take you back. I admire your loyalty and conviction. ” Dean swallowed as Naomi gave him a perfunctory tight-lipped smile, tinged with sympathy. “He’s made his decision, Dean. Please stop calling.”

Dean looked away; he knew if she could see his face, it would give away how much pain he was in. At Dean’s silence, she moved past him to the door while Dean stood stock-still, his heart hammering in his chest. Without another word, Naomi walked out of Dean’s room and straight out of Bobby’s house, disappearing in a moment like she was never there at all. Dean staggered to his bed and fell down on it hard. 

Dean turned his head and Cas’ gift, still sitting on the desk, came in to view. With a surge of anger, he jumped off the bed and crossed the few feet to his desk. He picked up the small box, and weighed it in his hands, before throwing it against the door with a scream. Dean dragged himself back to his bed and looked across the room impassively at the carnage. The force of Dean’s throw crumpled the stiff paper of the gift box, and the box and its contents laid in a heap in front for Dean’s door in a bed of wrinkled ice-skating penguins wrapping paper. Bobby would be pissed when he saw the blue scuff mark on the door that marked the point of the impact, but Dean couldn’t bring himself to care, neither about Bobby’s ire or the mess he had made.

Dean heard Bobby storm up the stairs, and he rolled over so that his back faced the door.

“What in the hell is going on up here?! Who was that woman? What’d she say to you?” Bobby bellowed upon barging into Dean’s room.

“Go away, Bobby,” Dean said quietly, but firmly.

“Now, son --” Bobby started.

“You’re not my father. Get out!” Dean shouted.

Bobby sighed deeply, hesitating for a moment, but left without a word.

Dean waited to hear the tell tale click of the door shutting, which indicated that Bobby had left, before letting the bottled-up emotion from his talk with Naomi bubble over. Dean felt like shit; he hated that he got his hopes up in this thing with Cas, he hated that Cas’ mother came to his home and scolded him for acting like a child, and he hated that he _was_ acting like a child, lashing out at her and Bobby for the failure of _his_ relationship. He buried his head in the pillow and let the cheap fabric of his pillowcase soak up his tears and the sounds of his sobs. 

After a few minutes of crying, Dean pulled out a bottle of cheap whiskey from its hiding place in his duffel and took a swig straight from the bottle. Dean had firsthand knowledge of what alcohol, especially used when grieving, can do to a person after watching his dad slowly implode following the death of his mom. But Dean didn’t care about the consequences or the aftermath. He just cared about numbing the pain that had been following him around since Thanksgiving, and alcohol was the only thing he knew did the trick.

It didn’t take more than a couple long pulls of whiskey and another good cry for Dean to pass out, curled up in a ball on top of his covers. He woke up from a dreamless sleep hours later to a dark and quiet house and a post-it note stuck to his lamp.

_If you’re hungry, there’s leftovers in the fridge_ , the note read. His stomach grumbled at the mention of food and he swung his legs over the side of the bed to get up. His head spun at the sudden movement (and lingering effects of alcohol) as he righted himself on the edge of the bed. Gripping his aching head, he noticed that all lights but his desk lamp had been turned off sometime while he was sleeping, as well as the absence of his bottle of whiskey. Bobby must have taken Dean’s contraband alcohol at the same time he left the note.

Once the room stopped spinning, Dean got up to go to the kitchen. When he reached the door, he saw that the wreckage that used to be Cas’ gift was missing from where he left it on the floor. He looked around the room frantically and relief washed over him; Bobby had placed it on his desk instead of throwing it away. He left the gift alone for the moment and carefully tread downstairs to the kitchen. As he was leaving his room, Dean saw that it was after two in the morning, but that didn’t guarantee that all the occupants of the house would be asleep.

When he made it to the kitchen, he smiled at the glass of water and the bottle of Tylenol on the counter next to the fridge. Next to them was another note that read: _Whiskey’s gone. No more drinking alone._ He rolled his eyes at Bobby’s reprimand (and slight hypocrisy) and reached into the fridge to find some spaghetti and meatballs in a tupperware container. He reached for the container but stopped just short of grabbing it when he heard footsteps behind him. Dean turned over his shoulder to see Sam standing in the doorway to the kitchen, and froze.

“So can we talk now, or are you just going to yell at me like you yelled at Bobby?” Sam asked, stepping further into the kitchen.

“Sammy --” Dean pleaded, grabbing the leftovers and peeling off the lid.

“Come on, Dean” Sam said as Dean put his late night dinner in the microwave, “Who was that woman?”

Dean programmed the microwave and kept his mouth shut, chewing on his bottom lip for good measure. No way was he having this conversation in the middle of the night in the kitchen _with Sam_. Sam didn’t need to know about his broken shell of a love life. Hell, Sam didn’t need to know the myriad of ways Dean was fucked up. As far as Dean was concerned, it was better for Sam to not know all of Dean’s deep-seated insecurities. Because if Sam knew those deep, dark things about Dean, if he knew all the ways Dean wasn’t quite good enough, he would _hate_ Dean.

Sam huffed at Dean’s silence and even though Dean’s back was turned to him, Dean knew Sam had crossed his arms.

“Fine, be that way, Dean,” Sam said angrily. Dean turned to look at Sam as he threw his hands up in exasperation. “I know you’re ‘allergic to talking about your feelings’ or some shit, but I also know I saw some stranger stalk out of our home and she said _something_ to you.”

Dean swallowed thickly as Sam looked at him expectantly.

“She was - she _is_ Cas’ mother,” Dean said quietly, sadness creeping into his voice.

“Oh,” Sam said. Dean had mentioned her (and her control issues) enough times for Sam to know the significance of her showing up at their home. Hell, he might’ve even seen her once or twice on TV since Thanksgiving.

“And you know, uh, me and Cas aren’t together anymore,” Dean continued, a pained look crossing his features, “and she wanted to, shit, I don’t know what she really wanted. I guess to make sure I’m not _distracting_ Cas with my feelings.” _Feelings he doesn’t return_ , Dean finished in his mind. 

Dean was pulled out of his self-loathing by the beeping from the microwave. He turned to open the microwave door and was shocked by over six-feet of little brother pressed up against his back. Sam wrapped his arms around Dean’s middle as Dean pulled the hot food from the microwave and closed the door. He stirred the spaghetti with a fork and smiled to himself as Sam’s warmth seeped through his t-shirt.

“Uh, thanks Sammy,” Dean said, voice thick with emotion. He patted Sam’s arm to let him go, and Sam gave him a final squeeze before stepping back and letting Dean turn around to take his dinner (plus the glass of water and Tylenol) to the kitchen table.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened, Dean,” Sam said, pulling out another one of the chairs and sitting down next to Dean, “But you know, I won’t judge you.” Dean looked at Sam and rolled his eyes before digging into his food.

“Also, I’m obligated as the little brother to take your side and hate Castiel on demand,” Sam smiled at Dean and Dean grinned back, “Just in case you need it.”

Dean playfully punched Sam in the arm and went back to eating. As Dean finished up his late-night meal, he and Sam joked around and laughed more than they had in ages. Dean teased him about Ruby, who, despite massively fucking up, seemed to be turning things around, both in school and with Sam. Apparently, after a few tense weeks, they had talked out most of their problems. Despite swearing that he would hate Ruby for life after getting Sam picked up by the cops, Dean was glad that Sam was happy. He also finally admitted to himself that Sam probably wasn’t completely blameless; as far as Dean could tell, no one ever _forced_ Sam to go to the park with Ruby and drink. Dean had hoped that Sam would grow up to be a flawless angel, but now Dean thought that maybe making a few bad decisions, and learning from them, was good for the kid.

Sam hovered as Dean rinsed out the tupperware and put it in the dishwasher, and walked with Dean up the stairs. They said their goodnights at the second-floor landing, Sam telling Dean to apologize to Bobby in the morning and giving Dean another hug before tiptoeing back to his room. Dean went back to his own room and was once again faced with the half-destroyed Christmas gift for Castiel. Dean stared down the carnage and sighed as he finally made a decision.

Dean grabbed what was left of the roll of ice-skating penguins wrapping paper from his closet, and rifled around in his desk drawers for tape and scissors. Dean pulled out the socks and zoo membership and home-made coupon, and was grateful there was no serious damage. He did have to pull some carpet fuzz off the socks and straighten out his coupon since the edges were bent in the box’s collision with the door. Next, Dean examined the gift box for salvageability -- one corner was inverted and there was a small rip from where the lid tab popped open, but with a little gentle pushing and generous application of tape, it would be good as new. Once the box was fixed up again, Dean gently placed the items back in it and taped the box closed before re-wrapping it. He had bought the wrapping paper during Cas’ month-long obsession with marine life in November; when he saw it in the store, he remembered all the videos Cas had shown him of penguins falling over on YouTube, and he’d _had_ to buy it.

Gift re-wrapped and put away in his duffel, Dean yawned loudly and eyed the blinking 3:30 AM on his clock. He crawled under the covers of his bed, but still couldn’t fall asleep. 

Dean replayed Naomi’s visit in his mind; if anything, her coming gave Dean a certain amount of hope. Cas could’ve have called or made his own in-person visit if he didn’t want Dean contacting him anymore. Maybe, the reason for her visit was that Cas _did_ like Dean’s calls, and she felt she had to sever their last thread of connection.

No matter why Naomi dropped by, Dean wasn’t ready to give up on Castiel yet. A little time and some space were probably what he and Cas needed anyway. Dean thought that he might not deserve Cas, but he was a selfish son-of-a-bitch and he wanted Cas back in his life. The football season was almost over, and Dean let himself hope that he maybe had some chance with Cas someday. Screw Naomi and screw professional football. 

\---

Most of Christmas came and went uneventfully at Bobby’s house. Dean staggered out of bed far too early and made a mountain of waffles, before the three of them crowded around the tree to exchange presents. Sam was thrilled with his new video game (he had, after all, been pointedly dropping hints since the game was released in October) and Bobby buried his nose in the old book as soon as he pulled the paper off it, so Dean counted the Christmas as a win. Bobby, the old sentimental fool, still thought Dean and Sam needed a visit from Santa Claus, so the Winchester boys also had stockings full of goodies and gadgets laid on the fireplace in addition to their wrapped gifts under the tree. 

For the rest of they day, they gorged themselves on honey-baked ham and the variety pack of popcorn Sheriff Mills had sent them, and fielding calls of Christmas wishes from friends. Sam spent most of the morning setting up his Xbox in the living room to play his new video game, and watching the Rankin-Bass creepy claymation Christmas specials that Sam loved. Like that year’s Thanksgiving, for the first time in two years it was free of the angst and drama that the holidays usually brought; Bobby and Sam and Dean were making new traditions together, pulling some from Sam and Dean’s childhood and some from Bobby’s life before his wife died. 

Sam went to bed early (he was meeting Ruby first thing in the morning to go ice skating and have their own little Christmas celebration), which left Dean and Bobby alone together in the living room for the first time all day. Dean was ashamed of how he had treated Bobby the night before, but he wasn’t sure how to broach the topic. Before he could say anything, a small shipping box from Amazon was pushed into his hands. The label said ‘Don’t open until Christmas!’ and had Dean’s name on it, but he couldn’t remember ordering anything.

“What’s this?” Dean asked, lightly shaking the package.

“It came about a week ago,” Bobby said, handing Dean his pocket knife so Dean could open the box. Dean made quick work of the tough packing tape and pulled out a small, wrapped box, looking at it like it would explode at any moment.

“Well,” Bobby said gruffly, “Who’s it from?” Dean turned the box over in his hands until he spotted the gift tag. Turning the tag over, he quietly gasped.

“Cas,” Dean croaked, “It’s from Cas.” Dean fingered a point of the wrapping paper, unsure if he should open it, or send the whole thing back to Amazon. He pulled the invoice out of shipping box and saw that the order had been placed after their break-up. Questions about the gift and Cas made Dean’s head swim. Did Cas still want to be together? Or maybe it was a pity gift, or even a buyoff. If he just sent it back, Cas would see the refund. Would it hurt Cas if he didn’t accept the gift?

Dean dropped the gift in his lap and his head in his hands, groaning. Bobby picked up the box from Dean’s lap and read the gift tag.

“‘For your trip to Disney World. Good luck at Nationals - Cas’,” Bobby read, “Well, are you gonna open it?”

“I don’t know,” Dean said into his hands. The order was placed weeks ago, but Cas had had plenty of time between payment and shipping (and even after shipping knowing Castiel’s means) to stop the gift from coming. Dean reasoned that that meant he wanted Dean to have whatever was in the box, whether or not they were together. 

Dean sighed, “Hand it over.” He gently peeled off the tag and the ribbon before tearing into the wrapping paper. Once divested of its paper, Dean saw that it was actually two gifts taped together: a slim, silver digital camera and a 64GB memory card. Knowing Cas, the camera had to be the top of the line, with the best available optical zoom and HD capabilities and probably a fucking homing beacon and laser sights. The gift was much too much, even if they had still been together. Dean’s heart sunk as he thought of the meager present he had bought for Cas; some stupid socks and a zoo membership paled in comparison to _this_. Dean told himself to put it back in the box, to send it back to Amazon, but he couldn’t put the gift down, nor could he help the small upturn of his mouth.

Cas must have remembered all of Dean’s whining about his shitty phone camera and how useless it was going to be at Nationals and at Disney World. Cas had remembered, and he had fixed the problem. And with the timing of ordering and shipping the thing, he had done so without any expectation of reciprocation.

“Hey, Bobby,” Dean said suddenly, “Lemme borrow your cell phone.”

Bobby spluttered, “What’d’ya need my phone for?”

“I want to text Cas, but I think his mom is screening his calls. And if she’s not, I’m sure she’s blocked my number by now.” Dean put out his hand for the phone and Bobby grumbled as he put it in Dean’s hand.

_It’s freakin’ awesome. Thanks, man. Merry Christmas. -D_ , he wrote. As he got ready to send the message, Dean debated about signing it, even with just an initial, but he was sure Cas could pass it off as someone from his team if Naomi got too nosy.

“Thanks, Bobby,” Dean said as he handed the phone back to Bobby, “And I’m _sorry_ about last night.” 

“Yeah,” Bobby said, waving him off, “well I know you’re goin’ through something with this whole Cas business, but --”

“Bobby,” Dean interrupted before biting his lip and continuing, “you’re more of a father than Dad ever was, and you take such great care of Sam, and --”

“Okay, okay, no need to get so sentimental,” Bobby took a swig from his beer to hide a smile and clapped Dean on the shoulder. Dean took that as a sign that they were done talking about their feelings, and started to open the open the camera box when Bobby grumbled and handed the phone back to Dean. Dean saw one new message and smiled.

_Merry Christmas. -Cas_


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's lots of football jargon in this chapter but most of it has hover text to explain. For everything else (or if you need a refresher), check out the companion to this work, [Football for Fandom](http://s-cornelius.tumblr.com/post/89425108665/football-for-fandom-part-i-football-terms).

For Dean Winchester, the 2014 UCA Nationals were a blur. They arrived at Walt Disney World on Friday, after the worst plane ride ever as far as Dean was concerned, to a bustle of activity. Anxious college cheerleaders and dancers moved around from warm ups to competitions to the various parks around the resort. The seemingly endless ESPN video cameras, cheer bloggers, and athletic gear reps who seemed to hide around every corner only added to the chaos. Right in the middle of it all was Dean and the KU competition squad, preparing for their big performance.

Dean wasn’t a stranger to competition, but he couldn’t help but get caught up in the noise and excitement. He tried to be like Lisa, who had some preternatural ability to find a zen-like calm in the storm of activity, or like Benny, whose easy, worriless demeanor kept his body loose and mind focused. Dean found that sheer will and determination was more his style, ignoring finesse for attacking his nerves head on -- when Dean heard the first guitar riff of _Free Will_ that signalled his opening tumbling pass, he channeled all of his nervous energy into that moment and just _performed_. 

In the preceding months, he hadn’t had much time to just _enjoy_ cheerleading. Being an Angels cheerleader was more stressful than he had anticipated; it separated him from many of his friends and teammates, imposed more and longer practices on his already busy schedule, and then made him perform for a public that probably wished he was a busty barely-legal blonde in a miniskirt. And that was without the added complication of dating one of the Angels’ players.

But _this_ , the pure performance of competition cheerleading, was Dean’s strongest suit. This crowd appreciated the difficulty of the tumbling passes that he and Lisa and had meticulously worked out, they appreciated the strength and balance it took to throw a person in the air and catch her with one hand, and they appreciated the intricacy of their choreography, how fast the team moved from one challenging stunt to another. For the first time in months, Dean let himself sink into his routine, with muscle memory and the driving bass line of Rush to guide him. 

Their performance ended to thunderous applause and they left the stage to wait for the last few collegiate teams to perform before the awards ceremony. Dean couldn’t tell you what happened between leaving the stage and the awards ceremony, except for the tight hugs and high fives he shared with his teammates. He found himself sitting in the stands with his teammates and then watching the other teams perform, but he was too high on the enjoyment of his own performance to pay them any attention.  By the time Dean was able to register what was happening hours later, someone was shoving a giant-ass trophy in his hands and multiple camera flashes were blinding him. 

KU had placed third. In an international competition. With a routine Dean had co-choreographed and music he had picked. Dean’s face was starting to hurt from smiling, but he didn’t care as long as he had a gaudy-as-fuck trophy (that would give Sam a run for his money in the height department) and his celebrating teammates. He put his fancy new camera to good use, snapping pictures of all his teammates celebrating and posing with their trophy.

Later that night, after the team dinner and after everyone had calmed down, Dean, Sam and Bobby took advantage of extended holiday hours and wandered around the Magic Kingdom. Lawrence Free State High School had been back in session for two weeks already, but the weekend of UCA Nationals coincided with Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, so Sam and Bobby had made the trip down to Florida to support Dean over the long weekend. After spending a few hours riding the Haunted Mansion (Bobby’s favorite) and The Mad Hatter’s Tea Party (Sam’s favorite) and _not_ riding Space Mountain (because who in their right mind rides a fucking roller coaster in the _dark_ ), they parted ways at the hotel. 

It was after one in the morning when Dean sleepily ambled up to the suite he was sharing with Victor and Benny. Victor, of course, was already asleep on one of the queen beds, but Benny was no where to be found. If Dean was going to put money on it, he’d say that Benny was part of the rowdy crowd Dean had passed at the hotel bar, so there was a good chance that Benny wouldn’t be back before dawn.

Dead didn’t worry too much about waking Victor as he went through his nightly routine -- as Dean’d learned years ago, Victor slept like the dead. Their freshman year, Victor'd woken up the morning after more than one party Benny and Dean threw confused about the mess and wondering why a stranger was passed out on their couch with a dick drawn in Sharpie on his face. 

Dean brushed his teeth and took out his contacts, and after double checking that Victor was really asleep, he washed his face, using the fancy face soap he had spent his Christmas money from Grandma and Grandpa Campbell on. Though, if anyone ever asked, his story was that Sam gave it to him.

Teeth and face clean and glasses on, Dean settled onto the pull-out couch in his oldest, softest t-shirt and his special-occasion silk boxers under his flannel pajama pants (because if he couldn’t sleep naked, he was going to damn well be as comfortable as possible). He grabbed the remote from the bedside table and switched on the TV, planning just to watch a few minutes of something before falling asleep.

As soon as the TV was switched on, instead of the peaceful lull of the laughtrack over an ancient sitcom, Dean was bombarded with the noise and overstimulation of a repeat of ESPN’s football coverage. The anchors were discussing the AFC and NFC championship games that had been played earlier in the day, focusing on the rivetting AFC game. The Patriots and the Angels had been locked in a dead heat the first half, but the Patriots’ offense had been completely shut down after halftime by Castiel Novak, playing at the top of his game. 

Amazing play after amazing play flashed across the screen as Castiel set two playoff defensive records. Dean knew Cas was a great player, but Cas had taken it to a completely different level. Dean didn’t know whether to feel proud that Cas had done so well or disappointed that Cas seemed to have gotten over whatever funk breaking up with Dean had put him in. Either way, the Angels had beaten the Patriots and the broadcast flashed ‘AFC Champion’ over a picture Cas’ (still devastatingly handsome) face.

The Angels were going to the Super Bowl.

\---

A few days later, another unexpected package came on Dean’s birthday. Or really, a strange uniformed man with a stiff-cardboard envelope showed up outside Dean’s dorm room as Dean was getting back from class. Dean couldn’t take too long to wonder how the strange man had gotten past all of the swipe-card locks on the door, or how he even knew which room was Dean’s, before he was turning to talk to Dean. 

“Are you Dean Winchester?” the man asked, obviously impatient and a little harassed. He eyed Charlie’s door suspiciously. “Your neighbor told me to look for a ‘knockout with greenish eyes and blondish hair’ -- her words,” he held up a placating hand and Dean rolled his eyes at the description.

“Yea, that’s me,” he said, taking the envelope and signing the man’s device proving that he received the package. 

The delivery man left with a smile and a wink, though Dean missed it. He stared at the white, unmarked (save his name and address) envelope as he fiddled with the lock on his dorm room door. As soon as he dropped his backpack on his floor, he opened the envelope like it contained a tiny bomb. He peered inside and the contents nearly made him drop the whole thing in shock. He rushed out of his room and excitedly crossed the five feet of hallway to Charlie’s door, ignoring the tie looped over the handle.

“Charlie!” Dean shouted, banging on Charlie’s door, “Come on, Charlie, open up!” Dean rocked on his heels as he waited for her to open the door.

“Dean,” Charlie said, opening the door in just a bedsheet, “When the dorm’s a-rockin’, don’t come a-knockin’.”

“Sorry,” Dean said breathlessly, inviting himself in, “Hey Charlie, you gotta look at this - oh, hi Dorothy.” Dean waved to Dorothy, similarly clothed in just a comforter in Charlie’s bed, as he shoved the envelope into Charlie’s hands.

“What the frak, Winchester?” Charlie pulled out the contents of the envelope: three round-trip first-class plane tickets, a confirmation of a booking for two nights at a swanky hotel and three VIP passes to the Super Bowl. “You’re going to the Super Bowl?”

“I’m going to the Super Bowl.” Dean said, stunned. Dean’s face paled as he plucked the plane tickets from Charlie’s hand. “I have to fly there.” 

“At least they’re first class,” Charlie pointed out. Dean frowned, planes were planes and it didn’t matter how nice your seat was when you’re hurtling through the air in a flying metal death tube.

“Now, go freak out in your own room. _We_ ,” Charlie pointed between the still mostly-naked Dorothy and herself, and started pushing Dean out of the room, “were in the middle of something.”

\---

If you’d have told a sixteen-year-old Dean that one day, he’d go to the Super Bowl, he would have never believed you. Hell, just months ago, he’d thought the prospect of being a cheerleader for his favorite team was ludicrous. Now, after cheering at pro games, meeting Cas, being put through a media circus, and then, getting tickets to the _Super Bowl_ , he was coming to realize that his future wasn’t as quite as predictable as he had thought.

Getting to New Jersey and staying the night in a hotel and going to the game all blurred together in a haze of excitement and disbelief. None of how they got there really mattered though (Dean had even pushed the traumatic plane ride out of his head), because Dean and Sam and Bobby were all at [MetLife Stadium](%20) ready to experience the biggest sporting event of the year. Bobby had closed up shop for the weekend, letting his good fortune spill over onto his employees. Sam would miss a couple days of school for the trip, but a few of his teachers said they’d excuse the absence if he wrote a report on the Super Bowl relevant to the class. Instead of taking in the sights and spectacle of the Super Bowl, he was furiously writing down souvenir and food prices for something for his economics class. 

Dean was just in awe. There was a lot he could be angry about at the Super Bowl -- shirtless people in body paint, drunken fans, overpriced _everything_ , etc -- but Dean felt like he was about the vibrate out of his skin with excitement. Before they left, Bobby had surprised Dean with a new jersey to replace the old, worn one Dean’d had for years. Dean was hesitant to accept it at first; football jerseys, after all, can easily cost a small fortune. Bobby explained that it was always his plan to give it to Dean for his birthday (though he had reconsidered after the break up), so Dean’d better take it and like it, goddamnit. Now, instead of the name and number of a player long since retired, Dean wore Cas’ number 35 proudly over his jacket as they walked around the concourse at MetLife Stadium.

There was another feeling Dean couldn’t quite identify, one that made his stomach do flip-flops. Dean thought it might be a sense of _connection_. For the first time in ages, he felt like he was reaching out to Cas and Cas was reaching back. Dean’d stopped calling as often after Naomi’s visit, but he still stole Charlie’s or Benny’s or Sam’s cell from time to time and shot off a quick text message to Cas. He never got a reply like the one at Christmas, but this whole Super Bowl weekend was a pretty clear response as far as Dean was concerned. For once, Dean wasn’t questioning what Cas was feeling, or worried that Cas didn’t feel the same way, or wondering how someone like Cas could care about someone like Dean. 

They stocked up on snacks and drinks (and Bobby’d even shelled out for a souvenir for each of them) before heading into the bowl. An usher pointed them in the direction of their seats, and they were fucking awesome; Dean wouldn’t have expected any less from Cas. They were smack-dab on the [fifty](%20), close enough that they could almost reach out and touch the players, but far enough back that they could still see the entire field clearly. The seats were in the block reserved for Angels players’ families and it warmed Dean to think Cas thought them as important as family. 

So when Dean found their seats, he wasn’t at all surprised to see Naomi Novak occupying the seat adjacent to his, looking at them expressionlessly as they shuffled down the row and, surprisingly, not calling security to have them escorted out. 

“Umm,” Dean said dazedly, as he halted immediately when he got to their row.

“Dean Winchester,” Naomi said evenly, “nice to see you.”

Dean ambled down the row to the empty seat nearest to her. He carefully set down his armfuls of loot and put out his hand to shake hers, first wiping it roughly on his jeans.

“Uh, hello, uh, Mrs. Novak,” he said as he shook her hand. He let go after a single firm pump of her arm to gesture to his family behind him. 

“This is my brother, Sam.” Sam reached over Dean to also shake Naomi’s hand, muttering the usual _nice to meet_ you pleasantries. “And you’ve met Bobby,” Dean said, adding a “sort of” under his breath as he waved at Bobby. Bobby gave her a curt nod from the end of the row, before settling into his own seat at the end. 

It was only a few minutes later that the Super Bowl events began with the Angels running out of the tunnel. First came the mascot, an oversized head on a suit of bulging muscles in vaguely Greek looking armor. The Angel was a pretty literal interpretation of the idea that angels were warriors of God, so even his wings looked more fierce than fluffy. After him came the team running out on to the field. Dean’s heart stopped when he saw Cas. 

Castiel rolled his shoulders, loosening up, and when he turned to look up into the stands, his eyes locked with Dean’s for what seemed like an eternity. Cas looked like he’d half-expected Dean not to be there, but gave Dean the smallest of smiles before turning all of his focus on the game to come. Dean immediately relaxed, letting out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. It was like he had been waiting to see Cas to let himself breathe properly. 

Before he knew it, the referee and players were walking out for the coin toss. The Seahawks won, and [deferred](%20), so the first quarter began with a [kickoff](%20) to the Angels. Even before the first snap, the presence of Seattle’s famous [12th Man](%20) was definitely heard. And it was deafening.

Naomi pulled out a pair of earplugs and silently passed another three pairs, still in their packaging, to Dean. Dean blinked at her outstretched hand, and after a few seconds, she raised tilted her head, a little hurt, and started to pull her hand back.

“No,” Dean shouted, even a little too loud for the stadium, “I want them. Thank you.” She gave him the earplugs and a small smile as Dean passed them to Sam and Bobby. 

“I would have never thought to bring something like this,” he leaned over and said to her.

“I’ve been coming to pro football games for over thirty-five years,” she explained, leaning toward Dean, “If I didn’t wear them, by now my hearing would be completely gone.” Dean laughed and Naomi gave him a strange look.

“Sorry,” he said, “It just explains a lot about Cas.” Dean thought of enormous value pack of ear plugs in Cas’ junk drawer. He thought of Cas’ distaste for Dean’s earbuds, and the lecture he got on aural health and safety. He was even reminded of Cas’ generosity; Naomi had thought to bring extras, just for Dean and his family. 

Dean thought at first that it was going to be awkward sitting next to his ex-boyfriend’s mother. Naomi, however, turned out to be a very interesting person to watch football with -- Dean didn’t know if he’d ever met anyone who knew more about the game. She still kept her cool and detached demeanor, even when arguing against a penalty call, and she appreciated Dean’s creative epithets for the referees (mostly learned from Bobby, though a few were of his own invention). To his surprise, Dean enjoyed discussing the game with her whether it was guessing at the next play or pointing out weaknesses and strengths of the Seattle players. 

After one technically amazing pass play by the Seahawks, Bobby had to crawl over Sam and Dean, forcing them both to move one seat down, so he could sit with Naomi and argue strategy. Dean piped in when he could, but the two of them were fairly intent on proving the other wrong, and picking the next play the Angels should execute. Sam didn’t really care; he had given up on the game somewhere around the beginning of the second quarter and was extremely focused on what Dean could only assume was texting Ruby. 

Even when she was talking to Bobby, Dean caught weird looks from Naomi from time to time, especially when he was watching Cas play. Dean could tell she was using that quick mind of hers to try to evaluate Dean, but he didn’t know the criteria. So he just tried to ignore her the best he could and focus all his attention on Cas.

It wasn’t particularly hard to focus on Cas in this game. In the first half alone, Castiel had played like Dean had never seen him play before. He was technically perfect, never missing a step or blowing [coverage](%20), and absolutely on fire. He was aggressive and rough with the wide receivers without ever drawing a [pass interference](%20) penalty (though his playing caused more than few [offensive pass interference](%20) calls on frustrated receivers). He was fast and unstoppable on [punt returns](%20). At different points in the second quarter, he [sacked the quarterback](%20) _and_[intercepted the ball](%20). Dean didn’t know what the sportscasters were saying about the game, but if he’d been one, he would have already been talking about Cas as MVP material. 

Bobby disappeared during halftime, claiming that he didn’t give a shit about Bruno Mars and needed more beer. Sam and Dean didn’t really care either, though they got up and rocked along to Give it Away when the Red Hot Chili Peppers showed up with the rest of the crowd. Naomi even nodded her head along to the beat. 

But, as usual, It all came down to the fourth quarter. Dean thought clichés like that were pointless (also “whoever came to win is going to win” and “you gotta just put more points on the board”), but the sentiment was true in this case. The Seahawks defense was dominant as always, though the Angels had been able to match them point for point during the first half. The Angels went [three-and-out](%20) on the opening drive of the third quarter, and just kept losing ground. Dean worried that maybe the Seahawks were just _too good_ for the Angels. They had a ten point deficit going into the fourth, which they managed to reduce to three points by the [two-minute](%20) warning. In the last two minutes of the game, the Seahawks had the ball and were trying everything to keep the clock running and give the Angels as little time as possible. 

But the Seahawks underestimated just _how well_ Cas was playing. With under a minute left on the clock, Cas picked off another ball at the Angels’ thirty and ran it in for a touchdown.

Dean’s section erupted. Even calm and collected Naomi jumped out of her seat to cheer. Dean couldn’t believe his eyes; unless the Seahawks could pull out a fucking miracle in the next 30 seconds, Cas had just made the winning play. After punting to the Seahawks, Cas was back on the field for the final plays of the game. On [third down and long](%20), [Wilson](%20) threw a [Hail Mary](%20) that Cas batted out of the sky and the game was over. 

The Angels won the Super Bowl. Sam was shaking him and Bobby was hooting and hollering, but none of it touched Dean. Cas was staring at Dean from the field and Dean couldn’t drag his eyes away. Cas gave him a smile before being swept up by his teammates and coaches and the media rushing the field.

It was Naomi who pulled Dean from his stupor. “You have field access, you know,” Naomi said, getting up to follow the security on to the field and motioning for Dean to follow her.

“What?” Dean asked, incredulous, still glued to his seat.

“Your badge.” Naomi pointed to the piece of laminated cardboard around Dean’s neck and Dean peered down, realizing that his looked different from Sam’s and Bobby’s. Naomi continued, “You and I can go down to the field, if you want.”

Dean felt his body stand up out of his chair, subtly pinching himself to prove that it was all really happening. He trailed after Naomi like any second a security guard would come stop him. When they got to the gate that led onto the field, he tried to play it cool as he showed off his badge, but it visibly shook in his nervous fingers. Cannons went off all around him as he stepped onto the field and suddenly he had navy and gold [Lombardi Trophy](%20)-shaped confetti in his hair.

Naomi turned to face Dean before they got lost in the growing mass of bodies. “Dean, I’m sorry,” she said over the din of celebration, “I was wrong about you.” Dean couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He blinked, taken aback, and a million half-asked questions came to his mind. What had Cas had said to her? Had _she_ been the one who’d had them followed? Why had she chosen this moment to say anything? Before he could get his jumbled thoughts together and respond, she disappeared into the crowd. 

Dean moved through the droves of people, barely avoiding getting brained by TV cameras, as he searched for Cas, and eventually spotted him talking with Pam Oliver about the game-winning interception. Cas was thoroughly and articulately explaining the physics of his play and Dean doubted Pam had ever had an interviewee quite like Cas, especially considering the perplexed look she was giving him. 

Pam wrapped up the interview and thanked Cas, leaving to find other Angels to talk to. As soon as she and the cameraman were gone, Cas again locked eyes with Dean. Dean was rooted to the spot, frozen under Cas’ gaze. Dean’s heart pounded against his ribs, and his stomach started doing flips again. He gave Cas a small, tentative smile, and that was all it took to have Cas close the distance between them, pulling Dean up in a tender hug.

Cas’ strong arms wrapped around Dean’s back, and Dean reflexively brought his arms up around Cas’ shoulders. Dean rested his cheek on Castiel’s shoulder pad and breathed in the sweaty, dirty, _Cas_ smell. 

“Dean,” Cas said, a little dazed, pulling back to look at Dean, “Is this okay?” Dean nodded and grabbed Cas, tugging him back into the hug. He knew people had spotted them, but he couldn’t bring himself to care; people could think whatever they wanted. Dean saw flashes of cameras in his peripheral vision, but he was completely focused on Cas.

“What changed?” Dean asked breathlessly, part of his brain still unable to believe that Cas was back in his arms.

“My mother told me about her visit on Christmas eve,” Cas explained, again putting a little distance between them, but still holding on to Dean’s waist firmly, “You were willing to fight for me, so I wanted to do the same. You never gave up on me, even when I gave up so quickly.”

“You thought it was for the best --”

“No,” Cas said firmly, shaking his head, “I was just doing what my mother wanted me to do again. _She_ ’s the one who cares about contracts and my ‘hall-of-fame’ career. I thought I was doing what was best for us, but I still wasn’t making my own decisions.” 

“Well,” Dean said, “after all the shit that’s happened in my life, I didn’t think I deserved you. And even when we were together, I was more worried about being found out than taking the time to think about how all of _this_ ,” he gestured to the space between them, “affected you.”  

“Dean --” Cas’ looked equal parts furious at whoever’d made Dean think so little of himself and shocked that Dean would so freely admit his own shortcomings.

Dean held up a hand and smirked. “So I guess that makes us a couple of dumbasses.” 

Cas smiled at Dean, practically beaming now, and shook his head.

“So you decided to do this at the Super Bowl?” Dean asked, raising an eyebrow pointedly and indicating the growing crowd their display of affection had drawn. 

“Why else do you think I played so well in the AFC championship game?” Cas squinted at Dean like he couldn’t tell if Dean was serious. “I did it for you.”

Dean felt his ears burn. “You are _such_ a dork.”

“I want _to be_ with you, Dean,” Cas said emphatically, squeezing Dean around the middle for emphasis. “Is that okay? Can we be,” Cas hesitated, searching for the right word, “ _public?_ ”

Dean considered everything that had happened since July. The sports-going public knew he liked men, and while he would have preferred to let the world know on his own terms, he did feel lighter without worry and paranoia as his constant companions. He’d spent so much time being afraid of what people would think and what would happen to him, that he’d almost completely ignored what most people _actually_ thought and what _actually_ happened. 

His friends and family had hardly reacted when they found out he batted for both teams, only bringing it up to compliment or criticize his tastes in men and women. Cas had never been phased by either Dean’s sexual history or interests, and instead, had been a stalwart bastion of emotional support in his most insecure moments. All of them accepted him, hell, _loved_ him, for who he was, and he had been so caught up in worrying about being _discovered_ that he hadn’t even been able to recognize that love until this moment. 

But maybe most importantly, Dean realized that he didn’t actually care what other people thought. He had a sudden sense of clarity; he knew who he was and knew that Cas made him happy, and he was allowed to have what he wanted.

In an instant, his decision was made. He placed a hand on the back of Cas’ neck and pulled him forward. When their lips met, Cas melted against him and Dean felt like he was coming home. Cas kissed him desperately, like he wanted to make up for every day that Dean’d gone without since Thanksgiving. 

“Uh, Mr. Novak,” a Super Bowl staffer cautiously tapped Cas on the arm. Cas and Dean broke apart and Cas turned toward the man. They spoke quietly away from Dean for a few seconds before Cas was dragged toward the stage for the presentation of the Lombardi Trophy. Cas threw a “Find you after!” over his shoulder and then he was swallowed up by the crowd.

The second Cas was gone, three reporters descended on Dean. He laughed and charmed and winked his way through several interviews before the Lombardi Trophy was brought out and they had to leave to cover the ceremony. Dean looked up at the stage with the rest of assembled crowd as [Roger Goodell](%20) presented the Lombardi Trophy to the Angels coach and announced that Castiel Novak was the MVP. Dean beamed as Cas gave his speech (which consisted of little more than a simple “Thank you”) and everyone looked on a little confused, before the crowd started to dissipate as the party moved elsewhere.

Cas found Dean again in the crowd, just as Sam and Bobby made it onto the field.

“That was some smooch, you two,” Bobby said as he clapped Dean on the shoulder. 

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, “It was pretty disgusting.” Sam dry heaved and Dean made a move to attack Sam, but was stopped by Cas slipping his hand into Dean’s. Dean gave Cas a sappy grin and Cas leaned in to kiss him again. 

They walked Cas to the locker room and said their goodbyes. It would be a long few days until they saw each other again, but Dean was content that at least he could call Cas whenever he wanted again. 

They still had a lot to talk about and a lot to work out when they got back to Kansas, but Dean felt like they had already overcome their biggest hurdles. For the first time in his life, he felt completely _sure_ of himself. He walked toward the exit of MetLife Stadium without a doubt in his heart or a worry is his head and finally looked forward to what the future held, instead of dreading it. 

The three of them made it to the tunnel to leave, when he heard Cas calling his name. Cas jogged to catch up with them, still in his pads and jersey, and Dean gestured for Bobby and Sam to go on without him.

“Dean,” Cas said a little out of breath, “I feel it is necessary to tell --”

“I love you,” Dean said plainly. The chill of the night crept in under Dean’s many layers. The wind caught his hair, and the stadium lights shone on them, and he loved Cas. It was all so simple for once.

Cas smiled at Dean. “You’re alright, I guess.”

Dean huffed in annoyance. “You’re such an _asshole_.” He punched Cas in the belly, the part not covered by protective padding, and Cas caught his hand. Cas’ eyes twinkled with amusement and Dean rolled his eyes.

“I might even love you back,” Cas said and Dean tried to wrench his hand from Cas’ grasp. Cas just laced their fingers together and brought up his other hand to cup Dean’s cheek. All exasperation gone, Dean leaned into the touch.

“Dean, I love you,” Cas said and Dean felt whole, kissing until the stadium lights went out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s it!
> 
> I had such a blast writing this fic. I’d never written anything this long before! When I started this, I thought I’d be lucky if I wrote 10K. Now, ten months and almost 78K later, I can’t believe it’s finished!
> 
> First of all, I just want to thank everyone who has supported this project throughout its ten-month long journey. Thank you Meta Saloon and especially [messier51](http://messier51.tumblr.com) for helping me through the writing and editing, and cheerleading my cheerleader!Dean fic. Also, thank you to my readers, whether you followed from the beginning or just caught up at the end. I loved all of your amazing comments and I appreciate every one of you.
> 
> Secondly, this might not be the last we see of our cheerleader and football player. I have at least two timestamps partially written, and I plan on cleaning them up and publishing them. I have no idea when that will be, but look for those in the coming months.
> 
> Finally, now is the perfect time to catch up on football! I’ve tried to explain as much as possible in my Football for Fandom and in the hovertext, but if you have questions (or just want to talk football, SPN, life, whatever) send me a message at [my tumblr](http://s-cornelius.tumblr.com)


End file.
